another phantom of the opera
by saphira e.sparrow
Summary: here's another poto fanfic. try it out. sucky summary but idk wat else to say xP
1. Chapter 1

Okay saw Phantom of the Opera (2004 movie), and OH MY GOD! It was amazing. The singing and acting made my heart pound it was so awesome. And like most I was unhappy (pissed) at the ending. It couldn't have ended like every other romance movie.

So I will try and fix that. However as of now my inner muse won't let me write the story unless I have my OC Saphira Sparrow. Only I have giving her the French name, Mariana la Clare, for story convenience. If you don't like the idea then click out. Don't hunt me down for it, I obey my muse.

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. Though I so wish I did.**

Nice reviewers get ice cream ;)

_Paris 1870_

The Opera Populaire was a madhouse as of late. They were once again rehearsing for their latest performance of Hannibal. If one could call it a rehearsal. The stagehands were either stumbling around already tipsy at nine in the morning, or fighting over pros.

Monsieur Reyer, taut as the string instruments he conduced, barked orders at his musicians. Madame Giry stomped her cane to keep her ballerinas in time. The woman took her dancing seriously and would not stand for laziness or sloppiness. And the theatres own prima donna, La Carlotta, stood center stage screeching at the top of her lunges what were supposed to be the lyrics to the song.

All this was laid out for the personal viewing of a small girl of ten, from her secret hiding spot, up higher then the stagehands posts. The girl's name was Mariana la Clare. Mariana was the pseudo-apprentice of the theatre's opera ghost.

Although she knew he was no phantom, ghost, or ghoul, but a man by the name Erik. The whole opera knew of and rightfully feared him. He made a compelling argument: Do as I say and the opera house won't fall to ruin.

She and Erik had been friends for a good three years, and she knew what lay behind his mask. Much to his surprise she was not scared at all of him. He invited her to stay with him in his home in the catacombs beneath the opera house, so long as she did as he asked.

Which mainly involved watching the opera's many activates, using her 'normal' appearance to blend in and do things he could not, which was easy with the skills she gleaned from him, and of course, keep an eye on his darling angel, Christine.

She liked Christine very much. When she sang for Erik, he mentioned her, or so much as thought of her, his eyes lit up in joy and happiness. Anything that made her friend that happy, she was happy about as well. As of now she was squirming with excitement. Erik was at long last going to reveal himself to his beautiful Christine.

They had it all planned out. They were going to step on La Carlotta's last nerve and make her quit (for real this time), so the managers would have to give the lead to Christine. After her big night, Erik would finally grant her, her wish to see him, and show her his world of music.

Mariana sighed fondly, wishing her friend the best of luck. He deserved a girl like Christine. Mariana tried her best but she was still a little girl, and could not fully repair the damage the world inflicted on Erik's heart. She had seen the look in Christine's eyes when she talked to 'her angel', she loved him as well. She couldn't wait for tonight.

Down below the manager, Monsieur Lefevre, came onstage in the company of the two soon-to-be managers, and demanded everyone's attention; much to La Carlotta's annoyance.

"Tone-deaf dive," Mariana muttered under her breath. "Not fond of her, are you?" a deep male's voice sounded directly behind her. Erik certainly earned his phantom status. "Hello Erik," she greeted cordially. "And no I'm not, but try naming someone who is," she scoffed, causing Erik to laugh.

His laugh, much like his singing voice, was powerful, even in small quantities. He didn't do that enough in her opinion, so she strove to make him whenever the moment presented itself. Down below Lefevre had just announced his retirement, as they had known of for about two weeks, and introduced his successors; a Monsieur Andre, and Monsieur Firmin.

From their perch Mariana saw some of the ballerina's giggling to each other. 'They must be rich.' Mariana read their lips, a talent she learned from Erik, and rolled her eyes at their vainness. Money and fame that's all people seemed fixated on. She and Erik never understood the attraction for either.

"We are pleased to introduce our newest patron, Vicomte de Chagny!" the new manager Andre announced, as a man in a gray suit strutted up on the stage. He was quite handsome, and was fully aware of the fact. If his blatant hair flip for a few moony eyes girls near by was any indication.

"What. A. Fop," Mariana said repulsed. Erik chuckled and ruffled her hair affectionately.

Rehearsals started back up, La Carlotta blissfully got off the stage, as the ballerina's began to work on their part. They were the more organized group in the opera house, thanks to Madame Giry. But their routine and clothes seemed every inauthentic for shackled prisoners.

Erik didn't even seem to notice the routine, for his eyes were locked on Christine as she danced. She was quite graceful. A small content smile spurred across his lips.

Once the piece was over La Carlotta began screeching about something, the only thing that wasn't grabbled Italian was "I QUIT!" Mariana rolled her eyes. Honestly that banshee 'quit' three times a week, forcing Lefevre to lavish her with praise and expensive gifts to make her stay. It was no wonder why he was retiring in the first place. Why keep a no talent hag was beyond her.

Erik's hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. "Come," he ordered softly. Silently they stole through the opera's many secret passageways, up to the rigging above the stage.

Erik went off to lie in wait, while Mariana set up her favorite and most effective ruse. She positioned a lamp just so, so it would cast her shadow against the wall, making her look taller then she was.

She softly cleared her throat, and threw her voice. "Yoo-hoo, Jo-Jo," she giggled seductively to a stagehand by the name Joseph Buquet, otherwise known as the biggest pervert in the opera house. Already half drunk Mariana had no problem convincing Buquet to leave his post, for a more desirable activity, and allow Erik to work his chaotic magic.

Once Buquet was gone Mariana scampered off to re-join Erik. Just then La Carlotta began to 'sing' one of her arias for the play that night. They both cringed at her impossibly high and off-key notes. Erik quickly undid the ropes responsible for holding up the backdrops.

Mayhem erupted on-stage as the actors ran and screamed in fear as the canvas came crashing down on La Carlotta. She screamed and pounded the floor in outrage. Mariana forced down a fit of laugher at the sight.

Buquet, having discovered his mystery girl was nowhere to be found and realizing through his drunken haze that his job was in jeopardy, leaned over the gears and began pleading with the new manager's. "Please don't look at me, sirs! God as my judge I wasn't at my post."

Erik spotted Madame Giry and let his letter flutter down to her; she would take care of the rest. Then with their tasks complete they returned to their underground home.

*.*.*

Mariana hung up her cloak as soon as they returned, then went to her self-appointed of seeing to the black stallion, Cesar. "Hey there, boy. Did you miss me?" she asked, stroking his long face gently. Cesar whinnied softly, and then nudged her shoulder, making her giggle.

She picked up a brush and began grooming him. "You have a very pretty lady to impress tonight. Can't have you looking all grimy, now can I?" she joked. A shuffling sound made her look up from her task.

Erik's nerves were starting to get the better of him. He was pacing frantically, picking things up only to put them right back down, and muttering under his breath. She gazed sadly at her friend.

She didn't know what to say that would dismiss his worries. She could not say things would work out, because on the off chance they did not she didn't want him even more upset. And she couldn't openly help him with his wardrobe, because he would take it as her subtly telling him he was ugly.

Which was ludicrous. Even without the mask she thought he was quite handsome, but he never took it to heart. Quietly she put the brush down and crept to his closet. She selected a simple yet elegant outfit and a cloak with gold silk lining, which was sure to make him look smashing without being too obvious. Then positioned it so it would stand out when he opened it.

With that done she returned to the main room, where she found him at his organ. He had just finished tying a ribbon around a blood red rose, and was staring at it hopefully.

Sensing her gaze he looked up from the rose. "I apologize for forcing you out for the night my friend," he said awkwardly. "I have no problem seeking new accommodations for the night," she assured. "Come now, we should get ready for your angel's big debut," she coaxed easily. "It'll be a truly grand evening, listening to her sing," he agreed confidently.

*.*.*

Christine was singing like a true angel from Heaven, just as Erik had predicted. Unfortunately he could not see her in all her splendor, as his new managers had sold his box out to the new fop of a patron.

Erik opted to leave him be, wanting to conserve his energy for his night with Christine. Mariana offered to throw him out, but he assured her it was enough for him to just listen. He had caused enough of a scene today he'd rather not push his luck. He wondered sometimes if his dark side was corrupting the poor girl, but she assure him even if he were, she did not care in the least.

He was glad to have her. Her companionship made his lonely life in the shadows more bearable, but he wanted…_needed_ love. The love only his other half could grant him. A light to balance his dark. He believed that very light could be found in Christine. His gorgeous, elegant angel; his Christine.

Christine's voice was a sensation; it moved people to tears with its pureness. It was simply magical. Once it was over the audience gave her the highest form of approval in the theatre; a standing ovation. Erik softly joined in, not wanting to be heard.

It felt good to know he played a special part in her success. Christine was aware of it as well and was always grateful for his praise. She once told him; she was only as good as she was because of him.

The joy that had pulsed through him at such a simple statement knocked him breathless. She had only ever asked one thing of him, the one thing he was most fearful of; to show himself. He hated to cause her any form of disappointment or hurt, but now no longer.

Tonight he would reveal himself to her. To step out of the shadows and show her that although he was not a true angel, he would do whatever it took to make her soar in happiness.

He would show her everything in his world; his music, his home, Mariana, but not his face. Never his face. If she saw his face she would never be able to look past it to see all he had to offer her; to let her spirit shine as bright as the stars.

Mariana was a special case; she cared very little for, in her opinion, what were small superficial trifles, such as someone's appearance. If only the world shared these thoughts. But it was not so. He knew the world could be dark, cruel, and painful, but it could also have rays of light. He hoped, wished, and prayed his Christine could be that ray that shined on him.

_His Christine_. He hoped by this time tomorrow there would be some truth to the statement.

*.*.*

Quickly he darted through the opera's secret passages, and soon arrived at the chapel; their meeting place. Silently from the shadows he watched as she lit a candle for her father. The flames glow, illuminated against her soft skin, made her look every bit the angel she sang as. The moment was perfect.

"Brava. Brava. Bravissima," he sang softly to her. She glanced around, her face alight with a smile. She adored it when he sang to her. Just as he was about to step out of his hiding place, Madame Giry's daughter Meg, called out to her, thus gaining her attention.

"Christine," he whispered. She looked back for him but once again Meg interrupted. Meg praised her friend for her outstanding performance, and inquired how she became so great.

He knew she would tell her, but would the girl believe her? Christine explained how as her father lay dying he promised to send her an Angel of Music, to give strength to her voice. From the look on her friends face, she did not believe a work of it. She looked at Christine as though she were crazy.

"Christine, do you believe…" she bit her lips tentatively. "Do you think the spirit of your father's coaching you?" she asked gently. "No. He sent me an angel and it's the angel that teaches me," she explained.

"Father once spoke of an angel, I use to dream he'd appear," she sang. You'll get your wish soon my darling Christine, Erik thought, smiling at her from his hiding spot.

"Now as I sing I can sense him and I know he's here. Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he the unseen genius." A genius, was he? This was surely a good night to reveal himself.

"Christine, you must have been dreaming. Stories like this can't come true," Meg protested gently, looking very worried for her friend and began to lead her away from the room. Christine looked back mournfully at the room; she hadn't spoken to her angel yet.

"Christine you're talking in riddles and it's not like you!" Meg cried as she coaxed her friend away. No matter, Erik would be with his Christine tonight, he was sure of it. He turned and took another passageway that lead to her dressing room mirror.

*.*.*

Madame Giry battled her way through Christine's admirers, Christine trailing close began her. She shoved her into the room and barked at the people to leave her alone. After shutting the door she turned to Christine with a rare smile on her face.

But Christine's attention was on a blood red rose with a black silk ribbon tied in a perfect bow around its stem. "He is quite pleased with you," Madame Giry murmured. Gently Christine picked up the rose to get a closer look.

The phantom was as mysterious as her angel. She had often wondered if her angel and the phantom were one and the same, but always dismissed such silly fancies. But still she would like to see both her hidden admirers.

She looked up to Madame Giry, but found her gone. Sometimes that woman was as quiet as the phantom. Sighing, she sat down at her vanity, and stared wistfully at her rose. Then a voice broke through her musings.

"Little Lottie, let her mind wonder," a man's voice recited. Oh how she hated that poem! Earlier that day she had seen her childhood 'friend', Raoul. When she mentioned this to Meg, she had misinterpreted her tone as wistful for him to notice her, but truly she was wistful for him not to.

As children, he had followed her around like a lost puppy. She had been polite to him as her father had taught her to be toward everyone. But if she had had it her way she'd never have been in the same room as him. He was so immature then, and from his hair flip this morning he had not changed in the slightest.

"Little Lottie thought, am I fonder of dolls, or goblins, or shoes?" Raoul asked, striding toward her with a large colorful bouquet of flowers. They're were extravagant and no doubt highly expensive but they seemed dull next to the single rose given in care.

"Raoul," she murmured, smiling politely at the flowers, they reminded her of the garden in her fathers yard. He mistook the smile for him. "Or fiddles or frocks," he continued with his poem.

"Those picnics in the attic," she said nostalgic. That you came uninvited to, she added mentally. She loved her quiet picnics; it gave her time to be with her many thoughts, dreams, and such. But when he came she had to put them on hold. A truly annoying hassle.

"Or chocolates," he said, but was ignored as her mind turned to happier moments. "Father playing the violin," she sighed wistfully. Oh how she missed him! "As we read to each other dark stories of the north," he added kneeling in front of her.

She liked those stories, though she much preferred to make up her own. In her stories the 'villain' won, because it made it unique, different. But of course her favorites were the ones her father told her of the Angel of Music. Speaking of her angel.

"No Lottie said." She didn't much care for the name, but she would polite and play the along. "Is when I'm asleep in my bed and the angel of music sings songs in my head," she sang. "The angel of music sings songs in my head," she repeated as he joined in.

He really wasn't a very good but then he wasn't trained by… she wondered if he would believe her. Surely not. He cared only for money and his image. She remembered one time in their childhood, he had tripped in a mud puddle and soiled his pants leg, and he wailed like a newborn until the adults calmed him.

The memory made her giggle. He embraced her, and she him so as not to be rude. "You sang like an angel tonight," he praised softly in her ear. Her head filled with thoughts of her angel, making her giddy enough to throw caution to the wind.

"Father said when I'm in Heaven child; I will send you an angel of music. Well father is dead, Raoul. And I have been visited by the angel," she said. "Oh no doubt of it!" he agreed whole-heartedly.

She couldn't believe it, someone finally believed her. Maybe he had matured after all and his behavior this morning was merely him keeping up appearances. She was a theatre girl, she could understand that.

"And now, we go to supper," he announced. Her happiness vanished; he hadn't believed a word she said. He thought she was joking! She felt like a complete fool. "No Raoul. The angel of music is very strict," she lied.

Her angel was rarely ever mad at her. The reason for her lie was because Meg had made her leave their place before she could talk to her angel. She had hoped to return after her admirers had left. But now Raoul wanted to take her away as well, hence her lie.

"Well I shan't keep you up late," he joked. Laughing in almost a girlish manner. He ignored her protest. "You must change! I'll get my carriage. Two minutes…Little Lottie." Ugh not that name again. "No Raoul! Wait!" she pleaded, but he was gone.

She sighed heavily. Well there went her plans with her angel. Just like her childhood, he made her decisions for her, and never accepted no for an answer. With nothing else to do, she went to change out of her costume. Outside her room, Mariana quietly locked the door, and then took her leave.

*.*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

I had just emerged of behind my changing rack when some of my candles were mysteriously snuffed out. My room had no windows and my door was closed. So why were they out?

The last couple of candles blew out, plunging the room into darkness. Something wasn't right. I turned to leave when a strong, familiar voice boomed like thunder all around me.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion. Basking in _your_ glory!"

I let out a quiet sigh of relief. My angel had come for me! He was right about Raoul; he had only come to see me because of my new found fame. If I was still a dancer, and a chorus girl, he never would have spared me a thought.

"Ignorant _fool_! This brave young suitor, sharing in _my_ triumph," my angel sang. It was as much my night as his, but if not for him I never would have had a night. He desired some praised for all the hard work invested in me.

I turned to face where I thought his voice came from, difficult to tell when the room echoed. "Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master!" I sang out to him.

I was glad he had come to visit. It was my secret desire for my angel to be a real, flesh and blood man. I loved my angel down to the core of my soul that soared high above Paris when he sang to me. My blood raced at the thought of actually being in his presence, that he would reached out and hold me close, to be mine forever. But these were such foolish thoughts! It did me no good to dwell on what could never happen.

"Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in shadows I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside!" My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. Could it be? Would I finally get to meet my angel? Wordlessly I obeyed. There in the mirror beside my reflection was a masked figure.

I must have pictured my angel a thousand times, since he first spoke to me. I envisioned him, not as an angel in pure white robes, a halo, and wings, but to have a dark and mysterious edge to him. I wanted him to be my opposite; a dark to balance out my light. The one in my mirror was everything I'd hoped; perfect.

Slowly I made my way to him. I was certain if I moved too fast all this would disappear and leave me a wreck. "Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of music, hide no longer, come to me, strange angel!" I sang out, hardly believing this was really happening.

I was so close to the mirror, I was bound to bump against the glass, shattering the dream. But as I drew near I realized the mirror had been moved aside, revealing a secret passageway. Then once I was past the mirrors frame, realization struck me like lighting.

My angel was no angel; he was a man like any other, though with the voice of an angel. Then the reason for the mask fell into place. He was not only my angel, and a man, but the phantom of the opera!

All these thoughts and realizations did not frighten me, quite the contrary it made this meeting even more precious. I was at long last meeting my angel, who had been there for me after my father's passing, and the phantom whose actions always seemed to benefit my career. And they both were a man; they were everything I dreamed they would be.

"I am you angel of music. Come to me angel of music," he sang softly, coaxing me closer. Faintly I was aware of a thumping sound coming from my door, Raoul calling out to me, but I firmly ignored him. He would not interrupt my fun this time.

This phantom was not the one everyone in the opera house feared, he was always kind and gentle toward me. My angel beckoned me with his black leather clad hand, as if I needed more coaxing. Without the slightest hesitation placed my hand in his and let him pull me into his world and left mine behind.

*.*.*

Where he was taking me or where we were, I didn't know, nor did I care. I was completely utterly focused on the man guiding me, and nothing else. The masked side faced me; occasionally he would glance back at me. Gauging my expression for any change, and making sure I was in fact there.

I knew the feeling, and now that I knew he was indeed a man, he was sure to be as nervous of our encounter as I was. But the warm hand holding mine, gently yet firmly was a pleasant weight that kept me grounded. Please let this not be dream, or if it is may I never awaken.

His left side was unmasked, much to my delight. In the theatre I had had many a handsome gentleman pointed out to me by the other dancers, but this man simply outmatched them all. With his smooth pale skin, hair as black as a raven's feathers and looked just as soft.

I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through it, maybe later once we were better acquainted. He had two flawless emeralds with gold flacks that posed as his eyes. They were so gorgeous, I was hard-pressed to not believe he wasn't an angel. And yet a small part of me was saddened by our meeting. He was perfect, completely simply perfect and i was a simple clumsy dancer. What did he want with me?

I hoped to find some form of blemish on him but immediately shoved such a cruel thought aside. It was impossible selfish of me to wish such a thing. If this perfect creature wanted me, I would offer no protest. At the end of a winding staircase, a well groomed black stallion waited patiently for us.

My angel continued to surprise me. I adored horses; my father had a few when I was growing up. He helped me into the saddle. I could have done it on my own but I loved having him close.

He took the reins and guided the horse through a labyrinth of travels. I never know all this existed down here, it added to the mystery of the night. Soon we came to an underground river with a gondola bobbing on the water.

Gently yet firmly he took me by my waist, he helped me down. I landed quite close to me, close enough that our noses touched. I held my breath, staring deep into his dark green eyes, transfixed.

He seemed unnerved by my closeness. Stepping away, he steadied the boat and helped me into it. As he steered the boat, expertly through even more tunnels I found myself singing to him.

"Those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear," I sang. "It's me they hear," he responded in kind. His voice never failed to mesmerize me. "Sing my angel. Sing for me," he commanded. Never one to disobey my angel, I opened my month and sang as loudly and purely as possible.

We neared an iron gate that opened with no assistance, revealing his secret lair. It was massive, with literally thousands of candles and candelabras lining the walls and on the water. Red velvet with gold trim curtains hung from the walls, and an organ loomed in a sort of alcove.

The boat rocked a bit when it hit the shore and my angel jumped out gracefully. Once he touched the ground he removed his cape in one swift motion for no other reason it seemed then to remove it. He didn't do things for others approval, he just did what he wanted.

In fact he seemed oblivious to having done it at all; his full attention was focused on me. He opened his mouth and began to sing to me, so sweetly and beautifully I once again had to remind myself he was not an angel.

"I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne, to this kingdom, where all must pay homage to music…music," he sang powerfully, as he bounded up the stairs with swan like grace. A shrine to music itself, it certainly felt as though music of all kinds could be born and raised here.

"I have brought you here for one purpose and one alone." I leaned closer to him, enraptured by his voice. "Since the moment I first hear you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me to sing, for my music…my music." Did he think me his muse? Me?

Then the mood of the song changed to something passionate, meaningful, and romantic, as he began to make his way back to me.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes the imagination. Silently the senses abandon the defenses." I saw what was in his eyes, and heard what was in his voice; his every word was from the heart. My angel had real feelings for me. Maybe as strong as the ones I had let grow all these years. Dare I hope for it?

He offered his hand to me once more. I took it willingly, and waited with baited breath, hoping to see the same emotions in his eyes for me as I tried to convey mine to him.

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender." Never have I heard such powerful singing, it was so strong I had to glance away. His warm leather bound hand cupped my chin delicately, as though I were a fine china doll. Making me gasp at his tenderness toward me, as him turned my face back to him.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light-" his hand slid out of mine till he only held my fingers in such a way, I thought he would kiss them. But part of me hoped he wouldn't, for I was certain I would faint from sheer joy, and did not want to embarrass myself in front of this perfect creature.

"And listen to the music of the night." Letting go of my hand completely, he moved around the room to better express his words, his voice growing in passion. His passion made his words almost tangible. It was all-inspiring.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams; purge your thoughts of the life you knew before." Nothing could have come easier to me then to do as he said. His voice alone could carry me to places far beyond Paris, to places I've only read or dreamt of. Oh may this night never cease!

"Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar." The way he drew out that last note sent shivers of pleasure up and down my spine. I felt disconnected from the world. This morning seemed a life-time ago, and now it was just the night, his voice, and I.

"And you'll live, as you've never lived before." His hand was out for the taking and I took it without a second thought. I had already decided at the mirror. I had no chance or urge to deny him anything.

"Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, fear it, secretly possess you." As he sang he pulled me close to him, and I focused on his soft desirable lips, capable of creating such a heavenly sound. Oh how I wanted to close the gap and claim them. But I did not want to scare him in my abruptness. I would wait a little longer and see where he took it.

"Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind in this darkness, which you know you can not fight. The darkness of the music of the night." He circled around his organ, his eyes never leaving mine, even when various pipes and candles rose around him. This moment was so intimate I found it hard to breath, my heart racing.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be." To stay here with him, in his world was where I longed to be, to be a part of it as much as he was.

He came out from the organ, slowly stepping toward me; his expression was one of passion, amazement, and desperate longing. These were no doubt reflected on my own face.

"Only then…can you belong…to me," he whispered, his hands ghosting from my neck to my shoulders. He turned me so my back was pressed against his board, strong chest. I laid my head against his masked cheek in utter contentment. My mind almost gone from the combined force of his voice, and his gentle loving touch.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication." His hands slid just below my chest, my eyes closed in pleasure in response. I had read about these things many times, and he far exceeded my expectations. This moment could never be captured in just mere words. So I surrender myself completely to my senses.

Softly he grasped my hand and brought it up to cup his unmasked cheek. It would have been there eventually, but I would play at his pace.

"Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation." I turned to look at him, to assure him I had been doing so, since he spirited me down here. He squeezed my hand in a loving way before leading my somewhere.

Where I didn't care, he could take me to the fiery gates of hell if he so desired, and I would never let him go.

"Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night." He wrapped his arm around my waist, as if in assurance that he would always be there, by my side. But also as if asking me if I was sure of this. I had never been more sure of anything in my life. I smiled brilliantly, his eyes sparkled in return.

He lead me to a curtained off area. I didn't want to look away from him, but he was pleased with whatever it was so I looked as well. What I saw shocked me. There behind the curtains was an exact replica of myself. So perfect, I thought I was looking in a mirror.

However, unlike a mirror, I was wearing the most gorgeous wedding gown I have ever laid eyes on. So this was the depth of his passion for me. He was as deeply in love with me as I was with him, and he was subtly asking me to be with him forever, as his wife.

I would have turned and given him my very enthusiastic answer. Unfortunately the love and passion of the night consumed me and pulled me down into a new darkness. My last thought was I would tell him in the morning.

*.*.*

(Erik's pov)

My angel fell back, unconscious. I worried I had over stepped my boundaries and shown her the dress too soon. She could have fainted in sheer forwardness of my silent offer…or fainted in horror. Somehow, no matter how careful I was people found a way to be terrified of me. But I shouldn't think that way, I was in the presence of an angel, one who needed my attention.

I caught her before she hit the ground, and cradled her gently to my chest as though she were a fine china doll. Easily I lifted her into my arms. Her head lolled to rest on my shoulder. Did she cuddle into my neck? No, of course not. It was merely cold down here, that's all.

Laying her down on the soft red satin blankets of my bed, I had the most gorgeous view of her elegant, full lips. How easy would it be to just lean down and- No! I had not yet gained her permission for such a bold act.

But I could not resist the urge to caress my hand the full length of her jaw, trying to burn this moment forever in my memory, should this be my only chance at a happy moment. She was far too perfect to even be near the likes of me. But I was too selfish to give her up. I loved her too much.

"You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night," I sang to her as softly as I could so as not to wake her. I reached up and pulled the cord that let the black curtains fall around the bed. I watched her for a moment, a small smile crossed her lips and I was almost sure she wasn't dreaming of me.

I left her to her world of dreams, after first winding up the monkey music box I created. It may remind me of my painful past but it made a lovely tune to awake to. In the main room I pulled out my embossed cards and set to writing.

The first was for Madame Giry. She would need to know the whereabouts of her dancer and that she was safe. I owed her a debt of gratitude for hiding me all these years. She tried to be there for me, but I couldn't ask her to put her life on hold for me.

The second; to Monsieur Andre. It was more of a review really. He seemed the more sensible of the two, no need to further ruffle his feathers when they already were, over every little detail. But for the other, Monsieur Firmin, the pigheaded and vain one, was a reminder for my salary was once again due and a subtle threat to make my point clear.

Truly I didn't care much for money; it only served as a corruption to all good things. But it was a reminder that I played a part in the world above. I wanted nothing to do with it but I did try my best to fill it with beautiful things to cancel out its evil. Like my angel's voice or the chandelier. I grinned at that, to this day no one knew how that chandelier found its way into the opera house.

The next was for that naïve, arrogant fop. He would no doubt stir up a lot of dust at Christine's disappearance. I do not believe him a threat but I would not have him causing trouble for my angel's career with the two fools I have as managers.

And the last would go to La Carlotta. To be perfectly blunt, she was a disgrace to music. But I could not dispose of her like I would the others. For she was a 'lady' and I try to be a gentleman. In that regard I gave her explicit instruction to stay away from the opera house and to not outshine my Christine. Should she ignore my generous warnings then I would have no choice but to act.

I sealed them with my signature seal, a leering skull, and then set them aside to give to Mariana to deliver when she returned. As if summoned by my thoughts, she stepped out of her room, which was hidden behind one of the false mirrors.

She gave no reaction to seeing me, not that she ever had. "I was getting something to occupy my time," she explained gesturing to some papers with her handwriting. "I'll leave you to your night then," she said turning to take her leave. "A moment," I called after her, "Could you deliver these to the appointed recipients?" I asked.

She put her papers down on my organ and looked at who they were addressed to, and grinned. "This is sure to be quite the sight when they get together" she mused before racing off. Ah the innocent carefree youth, I wish I had. Glancing at my organ I notice in her haste to start her 'show' for tomorrow she left her scribbles behind. As I moved them off, the name Don Juan seemed to jump off the page.

_Don Juan_… The combination of the name and my night with Christine sparked my creative genius. Badgering me with the notes for a captivating, and passionate song. Unable to quall the urge within, I sat down at my organ and began to give sound to the music forming in my mind. I played softly so as to not awaken Christine.

When I'm with my music, time becomes irrelevant. What could have been hours or mere minutes later my Christine's heavenly voice reached my ears.

"I remember there was mist, swirling mist, upon a vast glossy lake. There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat…and in the boat there was a man." So she knew I was no angel and yet she hadn't stormed off. That was good, wasn't it?

I looked back at her. She stood just outside my bedroom, gazing at me as though she thought me a dream. I returned my gaze to my music and closed my eyes; a sudden bone deep exhaustion gripped me.

I was very much out of my element. Whenever I wanted something, I always achieved it by the use of extortion, blackmail, and/or force. None of these were acceptable in winning my angel's heart.

I felt her slowly approach me as though she were nervous of startling me. Perish the thought! It was I who would be walking on eggshells for fear of scaring her. Then her hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder. This time I when I turned to look at her I marveled at her courage to come this close to me without any coaxing. I had in a sense kidnapped her last night.

Her other hand reached out toward my face. I knew she would not strike me, she had a feisty spirit but I had done nothing to agitate it. And a lifetime of being hit for no other reason then being forced to bare my face made me flinch out of old habit.

Her hand wavered slightly in its course but pressed through anyway. I admired her stubbornness. Then her palm caught my left cheek and began to softly caress it. Her simple touch had every wall and barrier I built over the years to protect my heart crumbling into fine dust and the warmth from her palm warmed me right through to my soul.

It was more loving and sweeter then anything I have ever experienced in my entire life. I leaned into her palm, so absorbed in her warmth was I that I didn't notice her other hand move away from my shoulder until it was too late.

My mask, which shielded my grotesque form from the world, was pulled away. Christine let out a gasp of surprise and like everyone else, disgust. Fool! I berated myself. It was too much to ask that she'd touch me out of care. No one had ever touched me without causing me some kind of pain.

Rage and betrayal consumed my being, my vision blurred with a reddish tinge. In my haze I shoved her to the ground. A small part of my mind that remind unaffected by my rage pleaded with me to calm before the damage became irreversible. But I was too lost in my war path.

"Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon!" I yelled at her as she cowered like a child afraid of monsters in the dark. How accurate! I strode to one of the mirrors and tore off the white sheet covering it. I had them covered to avoid seeing what a monster I looked like, but if Christine to see me so badly then my God, she would.

"Is this what you wanted to see?" I roared, removing my hand from my face bearing the marred, twisted, and disgusting flesh that made up the right side of my face to both of us. The sight of my face stoked the flames that fueled my rage. If I disgusted myself, what hope was there that Christine would not be likewise?

"Curse you! You lying little Delilah! You little viper! Now you cannot _ever_ be free!" Once the words left my lips, I was unsure to whom they were for; me or her. I lured her here with my lies of being her angel. I took advantage of a young girl, deeply saddened and alone after losing her father. I had never been free for one day since I was brought into this cruel, hateful world.

Christine was to be my redemption but she didn't want me. I was the hideous angry monster that would haunt her dreams rather than be the man to set her world aflame with my passion and love. All hope was lost.

More rage filled me as the hopelessness set in. though none of it showed. "Damn you...curse you..." I muttered to myself. Then a small sound reached my ears. Glancing at her from the corner of my eye, my rage was floored and dissipated at the sight of tears streaming down her cheeks.

It's my fault. If my angel wasn't scared of me before she certainly was now. A lifetime of being hurt, gave me the rage with which to deal with those that sought to cause me pain. But she had not meant to hurt me. Now may rage would prevent me from my only chance at some semblance of a life, my light, my angel, my Christine for nothing more then being naturally curious.

I made my angel cry. Only a true monster made angel's cry. I tried to be everything she deserved but I'm an emotional and mental wreck. Far too rough and callous for someone as soft and delicate as she. I wanted so much to soothe her hurt away, but she would no doubt she flinch away from my ghastly form.

"Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even dare to look or bear to think of me?" Fool, you know the answer. Why deepen the blow? She was the last person I ever wanted to have cower at my feet. She would only stay now for fear I'd harm her instead of her wanting to stay because she loved me.

I wanted her to stay because she saw and accepted me for who I really was, not what everyone assumed I was with no proof. The trouble was; _I_ wasn't sure who I am, only what I desired.

"This loathsome gargoyle, who burns in Hell, but secretly yearns for Heaven, secretly, secretly, secretly." What was I hoping to accomplish with this venture? Did I think I could stop her from finding out what lay beneath my mask? I could not force or scare her into loving me, no matter how much I wanted her to, I wanted her willing more.

"Christine..." I turned to her and saw her tense. Slowly, so as to not scare her more then she already was, I climbed the stairs. "Fear can turn to love; you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster."

Pretty words that's all they were. I doubted there was a man behind my face. He had succumbed to the pain and loneliness of this life long ago, leaving the empty shell behind. But there were times I felt him again, when I was near Christine.

"This...repulsive carcass, who seems a beast, but dreams of beauty, secretly, secretly...secretly." I looked back at Christine, who was now looking back at me with a new emotion frozen on her sweet face; sadness. "Oh, Christine..." I whispered miserably. I sunk down onto the stairs, unable to hold my tears at bay any longer.

I had ruined the greatest, most beautiful thing to ever enter my dark miserable existence. I ruined it with my face and rage. I could act noble, proud, and full of confidence all I wished, but the truth was I was terribly unsure and so scared of everything.

I never left anything to chance, Christine being here reminded why I didn't. I could not handle the looks of disgust, fear, pity, and distain. Each look was like a new blow or cut to my already battered heart. Most days it amazed me that it was still beating.

Christine was everything I ever dreamed of. She was to help me not of the personal Hell I couldn't escape from. Slowly, she ventured near me; my porcelain mask trembled faintly as she held it out to me. I took it back, taking great pains to not brush my hand against hers even though I craved the warmth within it.

Turning away, I wiped the tears from my eyes before replacing my mask. Taking a deep breath, I rebuilt the walls around my heart. It had had enough damage done to it, and stood up.

"Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you," I informed her, my tone detached though not uncaring. As I led her back to the boat I tried not to linger on my utter defeat of losing my angel.

*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

So my angel was not as perfect as he appeared. Of course his disfigured face was a shock. I knew there was something wrong with his face or he would have no need for the mask. The whole right side of his face was hideously disfigured. It looked as though he had been burned, or hit many times, or perhaps both. His beautiful smooth pale left side was such a perfect contrast to it.

But I was not frightened by it. His every scar, knot, and bump was a part of my angel and I loved all of him. I was not shallow like the other dancers; I cared very little for things such as ones money, looks, or title. I wanted someone who loved _me_ and made me feel alive. And there was none better then my angel.

The gasp I let out when I first saw what he hide beneath the mask had been one of sadness, that I had not felt since my father's passing, because I realized, in an instant, how much he must have suffered in his life because of his face.

I saw the damage it had done to him when he was hurled into a fearsome rage. He thought so little of himself. He truly believed his face made him loathsome gargoyle, a repulsive carcass, a monster that I couldn't bare to look at.

His tone, that was once so strong and powerful, was now so small and miserable it made my heart clench in sympathy. I wanted to take him in my arms and prove him wrong on all counts. To tell him he was beautiful and how he made my heart pounded when he sang his soul to me.

But his rage gave me pause; it was like a force of nature and just as unstoppable. I could not fault him for his rage, I violated his trust. Now he would question my reasons for loving him. He'd believe it was for safety rather then love. I didn't have to learn to love the man behind the mask. I already did and always will. He was my angel, my fallen angel.

*.*.*

Okay here's the first chapter hope it's decent. If not don't care, I'm proud of it. Will post more later.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two here we go. I liked to thank to nice reviews I got. Very much appreciated.

I do not own Poto.

(Mariana's pov)

I was awake just as the opera house opened for its cleaners. I rose from my temporary roost in box five. Erik had fitted it himself, so the carpeting and chair were more luxurious then the rest of the place. Despite the plushiness of the box I had gotten very little sleep. I was too excited after delivering the notes.

I made sure to pick a good spot for the show. My friend was certainly a man of many talents. He had the lot of them running about like marionettes having their strings pulled by their puppet master: the opera ghost.

That new fop of a patron had informed the public of Christine's 'disappearance'. Good grief, it's not like there were signs of her being forced or anything bad like that. If he was serious in his pursuit of her, he'd realize what this type of gossip would do to her career.

It sounded far more scandalous then it really was. Sure there wouldn't be a story if Erik hadn't taken her to begin with, but no one would have noticed if that moron hadn't blabbed.

Monsieur Firmin just arrived, looking far to chipper for a man who's star diva had just quit and the rising prima donnas' vanishing act. He thought this was all good press for the opera house. You vain money hogging fool! That kind of attitude had no place in the arts.

Clearly I've been around Erik too much. Erik... I hope his night with Christine went well. I tried my best to make him see that he was human but he believed I was too young to gasp the cold, hard reality that was the truth.

Okay, so I couldn't gasp reality but he thought it was a good idea to teach an eight year old how the fight with a blade? Well considering when we first met he had to pull two hulks off me before they touched me. It made sense to make sure I knew how to defend myself.

The sound of Monsieur Andre squeaking about the press brought me out of my musings. Andre seemed to be more business then his partner. He realized that though having people fill the seats was a good thing, having no cast to earn those seats was very big problem.

But of course, Firmin wouldn't listen to reason and redirected Andre's attention to the letter they received. I don't think they understand the pull Erik has in this place. He knows where _everything_ is around here and would have no qualms causing mass chaos.

But I suppose when people like Buquet are off spreading tall tales and farfetched rumors, it isn't such a stretch that they don't believe a word of it. I just hoped they learned fast or this would get ugly.

Then that whiney, stuffed-shirt fop showed up demanding to know Christine's whereabouts. I don't much care for the way he throws his weight and money around. He did the same thing with Christine last night. Sure it must have been nice to take a stroll down memory lane but to then have him brush off her obvious affection toward her angel then ignore her when she clearly didn't want to go off with him was downright rude.

I had a sneaky suspicion he was in love with Christine or rather the idea of her, the her that Erik inspired. I knew people like this; they see a beautiful young lady, who was very well received by the public, they then pursued women like this for the sole reason of parading them around like trophies. A truly appalling sight!

She may be his childhood friend but he had not seen her in years. She was most likely an entirely different person then he remembered. Erik knew everything about her. That she was warm, talented, a good friend, and understood that music was what gave her life meaning and that he inspired her voice.

What would a rich high society type like him understand about that kind of raw passion? He saw a beneficial opportunity to improve his image, not a lovely lady worth the world…wow I've been listening to too many of Erik's sonnets.

Suddenly a horrible ear grating sound pierced my ears. There's only one creature on the planet like could make that God awful sound. La Carlotta came bursting in. A nauseating mass of pink and furs, no doubt made from her past poodles, and her entourage of nervous maids.

Erik was far too polite with her. I admire his goal of being a gentleman to a lady and she, by loosest definition, was a lady. Most definitely a lady of the evening. Oh how I wanted to knock her off her pedestal, but he refused to seriously harm her. However, a few seemingly harmless pranks to mess with her, were a different matter.

Then Madame Giry and Meg arrive to inform everyone that Christine had returned, was resting, and wanted absolute privacy. That could either be a very good thing or I may have to extend my stay outside the lair.

I'm jumping to conclusions; I'll speak with Erik before I make plans. I'd ask Madame Giry but her steely gray eyes always seemed to look right into my soul and it gives me the shivers.

They had gotten down to the last note, Erik's request to recast Christine as the lead in the new play and have Carlotta play the silent role. A grand idea, to be sure. I didn't much care for this particular play.

It seemed pointless in its plot and lyrics. Really it was a puffy, pastel, stereotype of rich nobles. Carlotta took the recasting well by her standards. She accused the fop of being romantically involved with Christine and was using his power to advance her career. Please you're only mad because you didn't think of it yourself, you cheap floozy.

Despite everyone's best efforts, Carlotta began packing up her dressing room; claiming she was quitting for good this time, no longer going to take this kind of abuse. She just couldn't handle being outshined by someone with actual talent. She wouldn't know real trouble if it came and bit her on her fat rump.

Regardless, no one was shedding any tears for her leave. Firmin and Andre were taking a page from the past manager's book and began groveling for her to stay. Promising to ignore Erik's words and that she would play the lead. I haven't known these gentlemen long, but that had to be without a doubt the worst decision they have ever made in their life.

The fools. The worst Carlotta could do to them was stay and bankrupt them with her constant demands of expensive gifts and terrify the audience with her unnaturally high singing. But Erik...well I wasn't quite sure what Erik would do but I can rest assure, bedlam would most likely erupt.

I suppose it should concern me that I don't feel the need to put a stop to my friends dark ways, but I just can't stand people who turn their nose up at every little thing that they fail to see the cliff they're about to walk over. They're asking for it.

Besides no one has done anything to evoke Erik into physical violence. He's capable of it, no doubt, but he'd have to have something very valuable to him threatened before that happened.

Then just as Carlotta was had one foot out the door, and we all saw the light at the end of the tone-deaf tunnel, she changed her mind when she saw her admirers turn their attention to Christine. That was all the managers needed to get her to stay. So close.

They lavished her in furs, chocolates, dogs, and diamonds. Yet they won't pay Erik his money? I just don't understand people. I held off going back home, I wanted to have a good understanding of things before I did. I was treated to the sight of Carlotta dressed almost identical to queen Antoinette. If I hadn't understood why we cut off the queens head before I sure did now.  
>*.*.*<p>

When I returned home my stomach became a knotted mess of nervous. The air was thick with…sadness? Self-loathing? Depression? Whatever it was it did not bode well for the state I would find my friend in.

I found Erik in his room, on his swan bed, his shoulders slumped, his gaze locked on his silent monkey music box, and his mask off.

Something had definitely gone wrong with his plans. As enchanting as the box was, it held too many memory's of the painful sort, for Erik to gaze at it voluntarily for any length of time. And to have his mask off, this was the worst I have ever seen him.

Had Christine done something to upset him so? Had he would likewise? There was only one way to find out and currently that way was frozen up. And even if he weren't, I knew there'd be no point in pushing him. His temper was something to fear.

He gaze never wavered off the box yet he seemed aware of my being there, and moved the arm facing me a small fraction.

Taking his silent invitation, I padded softly to him, ducked under his offered arm, and leaned my head against his side. His arm wrapped around me in response, still he had not said a word. He was quiet, it came with his title of phantom, but this kind of quite. This kind frightened me more then his temper.

Erik was a complex individual, to be fair. He would sometimes lose himself in his dark world. During which time I all but had to beg him to get up and eat something, less he became a skeleton.

Words never worked, he came out of his stupor when it best suited him. I could only stand by and hope. I didn't mind being there for him, but it needed to stop. The lengths of his daze were widening. Erik was not the only one who wished Christine would love him. She was the only one who could change him. I absolutely hated see my friend look so…lost.

Some time later Erik straightened up. "She wants an angel sent by God, not a monstrosity such as I," he said, his tone grief-stricken. I could feel my heart crack at his tone. "True, you are not an angel. But who's to say you weren't sent by God. They say he works in mysterious ways, maybe this was His plan all along," I suggested.

He scoffed. "Why would such a pure man waste His time on a demon like me?" he muttered darkly. "I can't pretend to understand Him, Erik. No one can. But I'm sure he gave you your voice and your genius, and those allowed you to catch Christine's eye and spend time with her. And maybe He sent Christine to make up for the past. Now that's worth it, isn't it?" I asked.

Truthfully, I had no idea what I was saying. It felt like I was stringing him alone with no guarantee of results. But it sounded plausible and I had no better ideas. "Christine, will always be worth it," he said.

Thank God. He was worrying me again. But there was still the matter of why he was in such a miserable state. The most I could guess was there was a misunderstanding. Perfectly understandable giving Christine's dazed state when she was around Erik, and Erik's general lack of knowledge with emotions.

"You should go have a talk with her," I said lightly. He mood darkened again. "She'll never want to see me again. I frighten her," he said firmly. "Did she say that?" I asked. "She did not have to, I saw it in her eyes," he stated coldly.

Now that's why he needed to talk to her. My friend was a genius with the arts because of his passion for them and because it is the one thing in his life that could never leave him. But he was utterly clueless when it came to others emotions, he could hardly make out what his own were.

"At the time were you mad?" I inquired gently, not wanting to set him off. His lack of response was all I needed to confirm my suspicions. What his face lacked in horror, he well made up for with his anger.

No wonder Christine was scared, but he most likely assumed her fear was for his face not his unstable temperament. All the more reason to sit them down and have them sort this out. "Unless it came from her lips, I wouldn't believe it."

"It doesn't matter now," he stated. It matters to you, I thought. "How did my managers fair with the news?" he asked, changing the subject. This wasn't over. He was going to talk to her. I was not going to let him let her get away, if there was still a chance for him to have her.

"They did not find you casting as ideal as you. They have no intension of complying with any of your 'suggestions'," I answered. Erik sighed tiredly. "What is your take of the lot?" he asked.

"Monsieur Firmin is of the vain sort. So long as his pockets are lined with gold, he's willing to put up with anything it seems. Monsieur Andre, however, would be quite eager to give in but lacks the backbone to follow through, and easily bends to Firmin's demands. And he demands Carlotta play the countess, just to spite you," I explained.

"I had similar thoughts of the two," he agreed. He then replaced his mask and stood up. "Very well then. Since my managers cannot listen to reason; a lesson is in order, wouldn't you agree?" he asked a sly gleam in his eye. I had no objection to a night of mischievous.

*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

These last couple of weeks had been stressful to say the least. Since my reappearance, Raoul had all but welded himself to my side. Incessantly jabbering my ear off. If not for his connections with the managers and as such, had access to any news regarding my angel, I would have demanded he leave me alone.

I also had to learn my role in our latest production, Il Muto, where I was to play the mute fancy of the countess. From the information I gleaned from Raoul, this was not what my angel had wanted for me.

I sat at my vanity, in my dressing room, trying to apply my make-up. But I could not concentrate. All my thoguths were of my angel. Despite his outburst, I still loved him deeply.

I hated what must have been done to him to make him believe such vile things about himself. His face held no horror for me, his rage and deep repulsion of himself, however, was abominable! If I had only given him my answer that night and not fainted, I would be in his arms right now, giving him every ounce of love I possess to him.

Instead he hides himself in the shadows of the opera house, convinced I was terrified of him. But how could I? He had been there through everything. He comforted me after my father died, he gave me the strength to move on, he gave me beauty, inspiring me with his voice and encouraging my own, and when in his warm presence I felt safe and loved.

He wasn't the perfect angel that I had imagined him to be. He was a man, disfigured and ill tempered. Now I understand why he had hidden so long from me. No one could have accepted him before. He may have never known the love a mother or a father. That would mean he and I were more alike than I had first thought: we bonded through our passion for music but we connected through our solitude.

I threw down my make-up in frustration, I simply could not focus. "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," a small voice called. I looked up and saw a young girl, dressed in a boy's attire, standing in the threshold of my room.

"Would you like some help with your make-up?" she asked politely. "It would be much appreciated," I sighed relieved. I was getting no where, and the play started in less then an hour.

She didn't make a sound as she closed the door and walked toward me. I had never seen her amongst the backstage help but that meant very little, there were so many people that kept this place working it would be easy to miss her.

"I am afraid I've become quite scatterbrained as of late," I admitted sheepishly. "It's quite alright mademoiselle. It's understandable given the events you've recently been through," she assured, as she began applying the heavy white powder to my face.

"You've heard of that?" I asked, my face no doubt coloring in embarrassment. Carlotta was relentless in her pursuit of sullying my name. Spreading vicious wild rumors. "Oui, meeting the opera ghost would frighten anyone," she shrugged.

Oh, she thought the reason for my lack in concentration was due to fear, brought on by meeting the phantom. "It wasn't scary at all. Quite the contrary, the phantom was most enchanting, and he handled me with the utmost care when in my presence. He was an angel," I clarified. "Then what troubles you so, if not that?" she asked confused.

"I overstepped my boundaries," I murmured. "Ah," she said as if suddenly understanding something. "You took off his mask," she stated. My eyes widened in surprise. "You-you now my angel?" I asked mystified.

"Indeed I do. He is a dear friend of mine. I would like at this time to extend to you an apology on his behalf for his anger. He has become quite melancholy with himself for lashing out at you. He didn't mean it, but I am sure you're aware, he has not been well received when people see his face," she explained.

"I can image," I agreed. People were a judgmental and condemning breed. Ready to pounce on anything or anyone who showed the slightest bit of difference. With my angel I shudder to think of what kind of life he knew, for it was certainly not a good one.

"I'm sorry, I'm forgetting myself. I didn't ask you for your name," I said. "Mariana la Clare," she greeted, holding her hand out. "Pleasure," I responded, shaking her hand. "Your angel is quite taken with you. He is ashamed of his face, and worried that you would not want him if he were anything other then perfect for you," she said solemn.

"That is utter nonsense. If he were perfect I would fell inadequate next to him. Besides, I'd found I wanted him more as he was; imperfect," I said passionately. When he was an angel there was no possible way for us to be together, now that he was human there was more then a chance, I just needed to talk him.

"He is actually still quite handsome. He posses the most beautiful emerald eyes I have ever seen." A small smile crept up my mouth as I spoke. "He's most intriguing." "You're in love with him. The look in your eyes when you speak of him..." Mariana smiled slyly at me. "You should tell him your feelings."

"I would love nothing more. Would you be so kind as to show me to him after the performance?" I asked. "It would be my pleasure," she beamed. I knew the next couple of hours would go by at an agonizingly slow pace because of how excited I was to meet my angel again. But mere hours as appose to a lifetime with my angel was a small price to pay.

*.*.*

(Mariana's pov)

Of all the times for the stagehands to be at their posts, I huffed. I have been trying to get to Erik for the past twenty minutes, after immediately leaving Christine's dressing room, to tell him the good news.

I knew he was going to appear up in the ceiling, after first switching Carlotta's spray bottle, and express his frustration at being ignored. But the only way I could intercept him beforehand would be to get past the stagehands, and they chose _now_ of all times to be sober and start taking in interest in their jobs.

I never thought I'd wish for the day where they were drunk of their asses and off making complete idiots of themselves, but here it is. Suddenly someone grabbed me from behind, their arm wrapped around my waist like a vice, and their hand clumped over my mouth, making me unable to scream for help.

I inclined my head to see who had caught me. Dread filled my very being; I had been caught by Joseph Buquet. Of all the people to have caught me, it had to be this monster. Whatever Erik thought he himself was, was nothing compared to what this creature did to innocent young ladies.

"You sure are a pretty young thing," he breathed in my ear, his breath was heavy with the smell of rum. I never should have made that wish, it came back to haunt me. "You're a little younger then I'm use to, but I can adapt," he purred, running his tongue across my neck.

I shuddered in disgust. This _could not_ happen. This _was not_ going to happen. Thankfully the drunken fool had left my arms free. Clearly he didn't think a lady capable of defending herself. Time to change that opinion.

I rammed my elbow straight into his liver. He let out a horrible high-pitched squeal that reminded me of a pig. In the second he released me, I took off in a dead sprint. I couldn't care less if someone spotted me; I just wanted to be as far away from that _man_ as possible.

In my haste, I did not see the man in my path until I had run smack into him. I tensed in fear that it was another like Buquet. "Mariana?" Never before have I been so relieved to hear Erik's melodious voice, or see his half masked face.

The reality of what could have happened to me hit me harder then I intended. I latched onto his waist, as I began to shake in fear. "What frightens you so, little one?" he asked concerned.

"Joseph Buquet, he-he caught me unawares and he tried to –to…Oh God Erik it was so scary," I murmured, burying my head in his stomach. I felt him tense, and let out a deep dark growl.

Glancing up at him, I saw his lips curled back in a fierce snarl, and his eyes were alight with rage. He was a terrifying thing to behold when in one of his rages. Gently he pushed me away, and kneeled down so he was eye level.

"Don't worry; I'll take care of him. Return to the lair and stay there," he instructed emotionlessly. I opened my mouth to protest, and tell him the news, but he had already risen and melded into the shadows. This was not good, I had no idea what he was going to do but I was sure it would be far worse then anything he has ever done before.

*.*.*

(Erik's pov)

That foul loathsome brute dared lay a hand on Mariana, my only friend. How much longer before that bastard set his sights on my Christine. Something in me snapped, I felt disconnected from my mind. As though some unseen force was pulling my strings, like I had done countless times before with the people in the opera house.

My anger had reached its boiling point these last couple of weeks. My managers had not followed my orders, _again._ Christine was to play the silent role. My Christine's gorgeous, heavenly voice had been kept silent for far too long. It was her time to shine, not some tone deaf pampered diva!

Not only that, they allowed that insufferable fop, who had also meddled himself to Christine's side these last few weeks, to occupy my box again. I had planned to show them that I no imaginary apparition to be brushed aside as mere superstition, but a force to be reckoned with.

Then that fat drunken pig had gone and tried to take advantage of Mariana. Unacceptable! She no doubt dealt out her idea of swift justice, but the brute was insatiable. Once he set his sights on a girl, there was no stopping him.

I had let this go on far too long, young ladies might have been spared had I intervened early. It took my only and dearest friend almost suffering the same fate to make me take action. But now that I was, the brute would never commit such foul deeds again.

Speak of the devil. I spotted Buquet stumbling along one of the walkways, no doubt he had been drinking heavily. I heard him let out a sharp wince and clutch at his side when he aggravated the injury Mariana gave him. I taught her well.

Swiftly, as my name implied, I floated behind him and hurried across the planks up through the secret passageways up to the ceiling. Stepping out of the hidden door in the ceiling, I gazed down at the stage, while hiding myself behind the chandelier.

The play was in a word, lacking. The chorus was off in their choreography, because Carlotta was drawing out her notes to impress her public. Piangi seemed to enjoy himself a little too much when he touched Christine. The list of people I wanted gone was getting longer and my patience for them shorter.

Christine seemed to be the only one onstage who carried out her role perfectly. It was apparent to me, her talent was not limited to her voice alone. She was a phenomenal actress as well. But that woman's infernal voice grated against my eardrum. It was time I put a stop to this foolishness, once and for all.

"DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY!" my voice boomed like thunder throughout the theatre, making even the chandelier tremble. The audience gasped in fright. Looking for the source. The performers abandoned their characters: murmuring and clutching each others.

Christine stared up at me, her expression frozen in a state of surprise. 'It's him.' Carlotta rounded on her. "Your part is silent little toad!" she hissed with venom, then giggled to the audience, who were far more interested in my location.

"A toad, madam? Perhaps it is you who are the toad," I murmured to myself. Carlotta was now getting a heavy dose from the spray bottle I had switched earlier. My original plan was done, La Carlotta would soon prove to be incapable of singing, forcing my managers to make my Christine the lead.

But I was not done for the night. Silently, I slunk back into the shadows intent on finding my next victim.

"Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak but kiss me in my UGGH!" Her voice caught in her throat, making it come out as a load croak. I had anticipated something would happen to her voice but not of this magnitude. I no less pleased with the results.

The audience was in stitches at her croaking, but as funny as she was, the people came for the show. A fact my managers were very well aware of. Monsieur Andre came onstage and announced Christine would take over the lead role. About time they learned to listen to me.

Just then the footsteps of Joseph Buquet caught my ear. The oaf stumbled by my hiding place, unable to see me in his drunken haze. I followed after him and found him in the swinging walkways.

He must have caught sight of my cape as I slipped past, for he looked around fear of being watched setting in. He hurried through the ropes along the sides, he glanced frantically around trying to find me. He had a better chance of catching smoke in his bare hand. I was never seen unless I wanted to be.

I dropped down from the ceiling, landing right in front of him. I could have grabbed him then and there, but I much preferred he feel the fear he instilled in all the young ladies he hurt.

Even through his rum soaked mind, he realized who I was and immediately turned tail and ran, in a foolhardy attempt to spare his miserable life. I let him have a little head start, I was greatly enjoying this game.

I grabbed a rope and swung myself across to another set of planks. Buquet walked along the planks parallel to me, but stopped dead in his track at the sight of me waiting sinisterly for him.

He faked going left then directed to his right then back again. Each time I followed him with lightening quick precision. He chose his right, fear had set in, as he ran like the devil himself was after him.

I might have laughed at the irony, had I not been so focused on the task at hand. I countered by pulling myself hallway up one of the ropes and waited for him to run onto the walkway.

My prey panted in exhaustion, and I knew our chase was over. I shook the walkway violently, making it sway precariously. He lost his footing and fell to his knees, his head lay over the gap between the walkways.

Jumping onto the walkway, I pulled the length of rope from my belt. I flipped him over with one hand and slipped the lasso around his neck with the other. I pulled it snug across his windpipe, watching his already red face and body thrash wildly as he tried to struggle against my hold.

"You should have kept to girls your own age," I hissed. His eyes widened further in fear, as he realized the meaning behind my attack. He opened his mouth, no doubt to apologize and beg for his life, but I didn't want to hear it.

I grabbed him by his thick throat and roughly hauled him to his feet, and leaned him over the edge. He hadn't the air to breath much less sound an alarm. "You should have kept your hands to yourself. You may have lived longer," I sneered. Then with that last remark I let him fall.

He fell straight down, before snapping backup, surely snapping his neck. The theatre erupted in bloodcurdling screams. I let the rope fall through my fingers, letting him fell to the stage below in a pathetic heap.

I have only killed once before, my master in my time with the gypsies. I had finally had the courage to crush the air from his throat when one person looked at me with sincere sadness and pity, then the usual scorn, fear, or disgust.

I had done it for my survival, now I had done it to purge the world of a monster of a far more heinous nature. The type that robbed young ladies of themselves with their sordid acts.

I felt no remorse for either, or I did until I saw the look of absolute horror on my

Christine's face, at the evidence of my crime. She turned and ran in the direction of the roof, that fop hot at her heels. I shot off after them, up to the roof, hide behind the statue, and waited.

*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

Pandemonium had erupted throughout the theatre, and rightfully so. Joseph Buquet was just hanged in the middle of the play in front of everyone. Every finger pointed to my angel. I knew he did it, but why?

Why would he do such a thing? I needed to talk to him. I felt his eyes on me and took flight up to the roof, where I was sure he would find me. As I hurried up a flight of stairs, Raoul caught my arm and jerked me around to face him.

"Why have you brought me here?" he demanded. "I didn't bring you anywhere Raoul, you followed me. I can't go back there," I told him. I didn't have time for his games; I needed to see my angel.

"You must return," he insisted stubbornly, trying to lead me back down. No! I would not be taken about like a mere child, I needed to do this and he was not going to stop me. I had to set him straight.

"He'll kill you! His eyes will find us here," I lied, my tone frantic. I was sure my angel wouldn't unless Raoul did something to me and he got lost in one of his rages. But it was true about his eyes finding us. When he appeared tonight from the ceiling, it was clear to me that there was nowhere he could not get to.

"Christine don't say that!" he cried fearfully. "Those eyes that burn!" I persisted. They burned me an entirely different way then Raoul thought I meant. They burned me with their intense passion, love, and care. I realized that it didn't matter if he did kill for the sake of killing, it would never change my opinion of him.

"Don't even think it!" he commanded me. But not in the way my angel commanded me to sing. With him I had the option to refuse and he would accept my choice. With Raoul it was what he wanted, _always_ what he wanted, and no other way. He would make all my decisions for me, never asking me if that's what I wanted at all.

"Raoul, leave me alone!" I yelled. He stared, shocked at my outburst. "I don't care about you like you do me. I don't want you. I belong to someone else," I confess. I doubted he care about _me. _It was Little Lottie he wanted.

The pretty, reserved girl form his childhood. I was not Little Lottie. I was Christine. He didn't know her, not like my angel did. He had been there for everything, and where had Raoul been? Never once in all these years had he sought contact with me for all his so called 'love'.

I told my angel everything when we were together, and he listened as I babbled on about things I was sure were boring him. Yet when I tried to turn the conversion to him, he evaded it.

Now I understood why. He feared my rejection, once I found out his lie. Feared I would abandon him like so many before me once I beheld his deformity. But I fell in love with the man behind the voice, the man who cared about me, and did everything he could to make me smile. No deformity would stop me from true happiness.

"Who, Christine? Who?" he demanded.

I felt odd. Like I was weightless, freer somehow. My angels voice had change me from a shy, quiet chorus girl, and into a strong, confident young lady, who had the courage to take life by the reins and take it where I wanted. My father had always encouraged me to do what would make me the happiest, and I could not imagine myself being happy unless my angel was by my side.

"He goes by many names; the phantom of the opera, Opera Ghost, but I know him as my angel," I answered calmly. "That murderer? Christine, have you lost your senses? How could you prefer that-that thing to me?" he hissed, as he gripped me by the shoulders and shook me.

"I don't care if he killed a thousand men. I would still claim him as mine," I stated firmly. "What vile spell has he bewitched you with? Christine this is madness! For God sakes, think of what that creature could do to you. He would destroy you mind, body, and soul, only to toss you as when you are no longer needed. I beg of you to not fall prey to this madman's tricks. Don't throw your life away. I would never ask anything of you," he implored.

Believe me I have thought of what he could do to me. The mere thought sent shivers of pleasure down my spine. And the way he made my mind go blank at his loving and tender touches.

Raoul did not know my angel as I. I knew he would never throw me aside. For as much as he feared rejection, he feared a life without any love at all, more. As long as I loved him, he would never let me go, which is just how I wanted it.

I had no qualms of throwing this life away. Not when he offered me a far better one. To sing, to love, and be with the one who was my perfect match in everyway, was something everyone dreamed of and rarely ever achieved. I had the chance to have it and I would not pass it up.

"You're wrong Raoul. If I went with you , I would have to sacrifice the very thing that made me me; my music. What place in your noble perfect world would understand that my music is like my air? With my angel I could sing till the earth stopped spinning.

"His voice set my very soul aflame, makes my heart pound, and makes white hot passion rush through my veins at his simple touch. And all he asked in return, was that I give him the love and kindness, I have had for him since he first spoke to me. He is my angel and I love him!" I cried, my voice strong proud and confident.

His reaction was just as I predicted, intense anger and shock. "Very well then. You love a monster," he said. I would have protested the name, but his tone gave me pause. It was low, dark and…evil.

"You may fancy him now, but I assure you. Once your 'angel' has you. He will eventually turn you aside or worse kill you. He has proven himself quite capable. Remember that he is a killer?"

I don't know why I was shocked at his jealous rage, he never took no for an answer. But it was apparent that being polite was not going to work, so I went with the cold hard truth. I looked him straight in the eye and said very slowly, accentuating every single word, so that it might sink in and make him accept the truth. "No, Raoul, you are mistaken."

"Are you so sure, Little Lottie?" I did not like the dark look on Raoul's face. _At all_. "Have you forgotten who you are talking to? I am a Vicomte, a very well respected and influential man in Paris. All it would take is a few small words with the gendarmes, and your precious angel will never have a moment's peace as long as he lives. You may call him an angel, but he is a man and is therefore as mortal as they come," he sneered cruelly.

Dread and horror consumed my body, making my legs threaten to give out. He meant to kill my angel! "You can't! Please don't take away my angel!" I pleaded. "Then you better put on a good show," he said. "I don't understand," I said confused.

"I know the phantom fancies you. I have no doubt he is waiting for you on the roof, wanting to check up on you. And I can not simply take you away, for he will surely follow. So our deal is; you proclaim your love for my and only me, and follow through with it. And I will spare your angels life," he explained.

To deny my angel my love, and turn away from him would be the cruelest thing ever inflicted on his battered and bruised heart. But I could not let him die. I couldn't live in a world that was not filled with his gorgeous voice and passionate spirit.

But did that justify dealing him this blow? "Do I have your word, that you won't leave a hand on him, so long as I do this?" I asked, fighting back tears. "You have my word, no harm will come to the creature. I wont have to, I have my praise," he smirked.

My angel was deformed only in the physical sense, he heart and soul were kind, gentle, and loving. Raoul's deformity lay within his soul; twisting and blackening it beyond recognition.

For my angel I would sign my soul to the devil so that he may live. If I can't see him, then at least I know that him was safe.

Whoa. R and R. please.


	3. author's note

Okay a couple of things before I continue this story.

I apologize in advance for any and all dry or too fluffy romance. I have no experience in it what so ever. But I'm trying my best. This story takes place in old France. Writing that way is tricky.

To those of you who like Raoul, you may want to leave this story. Cause I'll be bashing him a lot more. I don't 'hate' him at all, it's nothing personal. It's just I think he's the reason Christine left Erik. Plus I like a good bad guy.

I also apologize if some don't like my changing the original plot. But like I said at the beginning, I wanted it to have a happy ending, so I'd have to shake things up a bit.

I'm trying to make this as Christine and Erik centered as I can. But Mariana will show up to nudged them in the right direction. I want to avoid making her a Mary Sue.

Bear with me. I'll try and make as good a story as I can that you all would like.

Until next chapter.

~Sparrow~


	4. Chapter 4

Okay chapter three. This is where I start messing with the plot. Fun-fun ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Poto.

*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

My previous feeling of freedom had abandoned me. I now felt weighed down by chains, chains that bound my heart and soul. Chains I had to bear in order to spare my angels life, at the cost of my own.

Assuming our flight up the stairs to the roof, once I caught sight of the door, I felt hollow inside. My angel would be there and I would have to break his heart. Words bubbled to my lips and I made no move to stop them.

"I can't escape from him, I never will!" I cried out. I felt the need to assure him that I was his, but I knew it would do no good. My next actions would see to that. But I had to do something to ease my mind, if but a little. In my heart and mind I was his, forever his.

"And in this labyrinth where night is blind, the phantom of the opera is there inside my mind," I sang. As I burst through the door, unto the roof where snow was beginning to fall, and Raoul brushed past me.

"There is no phantom of the opera," he said, already in his role of my knight in shining armor. He reached out to comfort me, but I took a step back. How dare he try and comfort me! The only reason I needed comfort at all, was because him and his greed.

"Raoul, I've been there, to his world of unending night, to a world where daylight dissolves into darkness...darkness." Where our passion meddled into one, where beauty was everywhere, where I left the world behind and focused solely on him, and where when I was in his embrace I felt safe. But I pushed these thoughts aside. If I focused on them, I'd lose my nerve.

"Raoul, I've seen him. Can I ever forget that sight? So distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face in the darkness...darkness," I flinched at my cruelty to him. I suddenly became aware that there was something in my hand.

Looking down, I realized it was the rose he had given me. A flawless, beautiful red rose with a black satin ribbon tied in a perfect bow. A small token of his love for me. I felt tears come to my eyes, but refused to let them fall. I could not do this I could not lie to him like this.

I was a horrible, despicable person for saying such things about him when he was sure to be listening. I didn't care if Raoul became suspicious of me; I had to tell my angel of my love.

"But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound. In that night there was music in my mind. And through music, my soul began to soar!" I sang, trying to reach that same shiver inducing quality he had. But I hadn't even come close. I needed more practice.

Then with a start I realized, I may never see nor hear my angel again. I felt cold and I knew it had nothing to do with the weather. I pulled my cloak tight around my shoulders. I longed to feel my angel's touch or hear but a single note of his heavenly voice. Neither ever failed to warm me through to my soul.

"And I heard as I never heard before..." and may never hear again."What you heard was a dream and nothing more," Raoul said. Yes, it would be a dream now that you were taking it all away.

A picture of my angel's eyes flashed through my mind. I remembered their impossible color, and the hundreds of emotions that glinted through them and disappeared just as quickly. Eyes that knew pained and silently pleaded with the world to stop.

"Yet in his eyes all the sadness in the world. Those eyes that both threatened and adored." Threatened to consume me in his passion and adore me for every second of every day. "Christine, Christine..." Raoul murmured, stepping closer to console me. As if he cared how I felt.

I was nothing more then trophy for him to showoff to his friends. A prize he had deluded himself into believing was his since his childhood and would have be any means. My angel, for all his anger, had never forced me to do anything I was not comfortable with. There were a hundred of times, in that night alone, that I could have turned back and left but I hadn't. I wanted it, I wanted him.

_Christine..._ My angel's haunting voice whispered to me through the wind. So he was here, listening to our every word. A sudden thought popped into my mind at his appearance. He knew this opera house better then anyone. Surely Raoul and his man couldn't find all the secret passageways.

But then before I had a chance to warn him, Raoul wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pressed his lips against my ear. "Whatever it is you're planning, it'll do you no good. My men won't stop till that creature is good and dead. And I won't let you go to warn him," he hissed in my ear.

I held back a sob. I did not want Raoul, I didn't want to lie to my angel, but as long as he lived and filled the night with his music, I could live with my lie. With one last look at my rose, I let it go and with it: my dreams of being with my angel.

"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you," he told me gently. It is because of you that I'm afraid at all; afraid for my angel. Nothing you could possibly say or do would calm or warm me like my angel could in his world of darkness. The dark had always comforted me even before I met him. The sun was nice but it sometimes hurt to be in, but the dark was always soothing in a way.

"Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears. I'm here with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you." You will never be my guide and guardian. I will spite you everyday for the rest of my life for what you are going. But I would not stand to have any hurt befall my angel. It was time for me to play my part of the evening.

To act out a serious and true emotion, it helped to be inspired by the thing that would create the desired emotion. I envisioned my angel's face that time I caressed his face right before I took away his mask, the look of utter peace and contentment. The joy that it was my touch making him feel loved for the first time.

That beautiful moment would be my inspiration to fool Raoul and sing to my angel. "Say you'll love me every waking moment. Turn my head with thoughts of summertime." Nighttime. "Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you."

I held fast to my illusion as Raoul pulled me into his shoulder. "Let me be your shelter, let me be your light. You're safe no one will find you, your fears are far behind you." Wrong my fears are just beginning. You assume too much to think you can fill my angels place in my heart.

"All I want is freedom, a world with no more night." Day. "And you always beside me, to hold me and to hide me." I hoped my angel would emerge from his hiding place and take me away. But even if he were still here, he would no doubt be frozen from the sadness and pain my words caused him.

Raoul seemed far too over-confident to be seen as my romantic hero. He had already counted this as a victory. His smug smirk was not helping me keep up my illusion. "Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime, let me lead you from your solitude."

But I was never in solitude. Ever since I met my angel, I had never had a single lonely day. Raoul wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. It was nothing like my angels.

His was thick and strong yet comfortable enough to fall asleep against if I so desired. Raoul's was thin, boney and terribly uncomfortable. But what did it matter anymore? I had better start getting accustom to it.

"Say you'll want me with you here beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too, Christine, that's all I ask of you." He was still that lost puppy that followed me around. Only this time I couldn't be free of his presence by sending him home. He had me backed into a corner with no way out.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime, say the word and I will follow you." Come to me my angel and save me from this repulsive creature that seeks to separate us. "Share each day with me, each night, each morning." He leaned in to kiss me, but I stopped him.

"Say you love me." I asked loudly, pleading to my angel, rather the man in front of me. "You know I do," he assured me, pulling me closer. There was no whisper from my angel; this was his answer. He believed every word of 'love' I vowed for Raoul when every word was for him.

This was his choice; to let me go and be with the one, he thought would make me happy. Damn him and his selflessness! "Love me, that's all I ask of you!" I sang out to him at the same time Raoul sang to me then he pulled me into a kiss. This time I didn't stop him. Any chance I had with my angel was brought to an end by my own hand.

There was no spark, no quiver running down my spine, not even the slightest sliver of warmth in the kiss. I had felt more warmth when my father use to kiss my cheek goodnight. It was too rough in a bad way and very sloppy. If my actions weren't sparing my angel his life, I would have smacked Raoul clean across the face and stormed off but this was not the case.

Eventually I could no longer stand the horrid sensation and pulled away from him. Hoping I would not have to do that again for awhile. "Anywhere you go let me go too! Love me that's all I ask of you." Clearly my luck had run out, as he immediately pulled me in for another kiss.

I pulled away before my depression could threatened to consume me. "I must go they'll wonder where I am," I explained, hoping to not ignite his suspicions. It worked, he smiled. "Christine, I love you."

You are certainly not the person I want to hear it from, or say it to. I barely managed to hide my contempt on my face. "Order your fine horses, be with them at the door," I told him, in a fake sweetly, cheery voice that made me nauseous, as we walked through the door.

"And soon you'll be beside me," he all but purred. Don't remind me. We were through the door; I could get him to leave. "Raoul why don't you go get your carriage, I must check back with Madame Giry and tell her where I'm going," I explained my tone pleasant.

"Very well, but remember our deal," he threatened, gripping my hand harshly. "I remember," I answered numbly. He took no notice of my tone, instead he gave what was suppose to be a dashing smile, but really it twisted his face unnaturally. Everything was already losing its beauty without my angel.

"Splendid! Goodnight Little Lottie…de Chagny" he cooed, and then all but skipped down the stairs. Only once I could no longer hear he footsteps, did I allow my tears of pain, sorrow, and longing fall.

The walls seemed to close in around me, I couldn't breathe. I wrenched open the door, stepped outside and was confronted with the sight of my angel. The moonlight seemed give him a silvery halo, making him look like an angel of the night.

He looked so beautiful. I almost called out in joy to him, and then I noticed a faint tremor in his shoulders. His black attire was such a contrast to the white snow, that any small twitch could be seen.

He was knelt over the rose I dropped. He sang to it so softly as he brushed it against his cheek. "I gave you my music, made your song take wing, and how you repaid me. Denied me and betrayed me."

His once powerful, strong, and steady voice now cracked from his deep misery, and sounded so small. His tears glinted in the light of the moon as they fell from his eyes. New deeper pain ripped through me. His pain was all my fault. I ached to rush to his side, embrace him, and confess my lie.

As it was I approached him as though I was wadding through water. "He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing, Christine…"

He voice broke at my name, and began to sob, clutching the rose to his face. Angels shouldn't cry, least not from sadness. "Angel..." my voice was no more then a whisper but he heard it. All trance of sorrow disappeared and was replaced by thunderous rage.

When his eyes fell on me it took all my willpower to not flinch at the weight of his intense gaze. "You..." he growled enrage yet I could have sworn there was a trance of sadness.

"Angel, I..." I what? Sorry I'm lying, you're in danger, I love you. Whatever it is I would have told him, he would not listen. My false confession had pushed him over the edge.

"_Don't_! Don't you dare try and apologize. Do you enjoy breaking apart what little still remains of my already battered heart! You, who know the love I hold for you and seek from you, Instead you give it to that ignorant _fop,_ who would destroy your spirit, your music. Just as I would protect and nurture it!

"You who betrayed _me_—your teacher. I'll have no more of you. Your angel of music has taught his last lesson. You will curse the day you did not do all that the phantom asked of you!" he roared.

"Please…I know how you feel," I whispered. I knew how it felt to have your heart ripped out. "No you don't. You have absolutely no idea how it feels to have everything you ever dreamed of, and then have it ripped away," his tone softened to a murmur. Then with a swirl of his cape he disappeared off the roof. All around me Paris was being turn into a pure white world when I had just committed the foulest of deeds to an innocent man.

*.*.*

(Erik's pov)

I was betrayed. My angel had left me.

_Of course she did. You know from the start she couldn't possible care for you, not with your hideous face. _

Damn, the voices had returned. The voices of every single person that ever laid eyes upon my and spat at me with distain, disgust, and cruelty.

_Why did you even try, a rare jewel such as she would have never even given you a second thought, if you had not claimed to be the angel sent by her father._

I had not wanted to lie to her, but when I heard her sing, I was enrapt and could not think of nothing else. I had planned everything so carefully the night I had first shown myself to her, I wanted her to only see my strengths, my genius, and my beautiful music.

Yet as soon as she had the chance, she had gone straight for my mask, stripping away my shield, and bared my ugly as sin face and then my even darker soul. She knew all of my darkest secrets.

This pain was just so overwhelming. No being should have to endure what I have suffered, let alone how I have been bearing it. I couldn't bear the pain anymore. It had to end .Too many years I have suffered. I desperately want relief.

Suddenly rage rushed through me erasing all the sadness and pain. Why should I leave? I was here long before any one of those pitiful creatures up there had been. I would not bend to their demands; they should bend to mine without the slightest hesitation.

The world thought me a monster, a Devil then I would show them what they wanted. Why deny what I am, any longer? I had nothing to lose now; my Christine made her opinion of me clear. And without my Christine what did I have?

*.*.*

(Mariana's pov)

Things were an absolute complete and total mess. I had disobeyed Erik's command and stayed behind to make sure he wouldn't get hurt. Then suddenly Joseph Buquet was hanged in front of everyone.

Truthfully, I was happy Erik killed that pig. What he'd gone to young women was horrible. The only setback was Christine would know Erik did it. Both Erik and I knew the truth of what the late pig did, his actions, however, were never discovered by anyone else. Meaning everyone would think his death was done in cold blood.

After hearing about Buquet, I returned and went to my room and waited. There were a thousand possible outcomes from this, none of them looked good. Suddenly something crashed into the wall out in the main room. Erik was back, and he was **mad**.

He began shouting, though it was more animalistic roars then actual words. I could make out ink wells shattering against the floor, candelabras clanging when they hit something, and paper tearing to shreds. Then silence. I didn't dare move from my bed. In times like this it was better to let him calm down then talk to him.

Then an even more worrisome sound reached my ears. It was soft and small at first, and then soon grew in both volume and intensity. _Erik was crying!_ I had never seen Erik cry a day since I met him. After all he had know in his life, one would think this was a regular occurrence. But he never did.

What had hurt him so bad to reduce him to a sobbing mess? Faintly, I began to make out the words he managed to choke out past his sobs. "Why- why Christine…why did you betray me?" he howled miserably.

Christine betrayed Erik? But how would she- No! She could not have run off with that Vicomte. It's not possible, she said it herself that she loved Erik. Could seeing someone die really make one forget their love of another?

Christine was not like those other dancers, or ladies of court. She was…_real._ She saw people for what they are, not the mask they put on to fool the world and people around them. If she did believe Erik killed someone, she'd have confronted him about it, demanded an answer.

So that had to mean that fop had convinced her otherwise. But what he possible say or do that would sway Christine to all but literary rip her angels heart out? Either way, another private talk with Christine was needed.

The main reason Erik was beating himself up, was because he assumed what Christine said or did was written in stone and unchangeable. It was odd to me, that me being the younger party, I should be the one to think irrationally, throw the fits, and own the title of stubborn mule.

But I've learned to deal with it and avoid it at the best of times.

*.*.*

The next day before I went out to visit Christine, I checked up on Erik. He looked like a marionette that had its strings cut off, the way he laid on the bed. A miserable forgotten toy that had been cast aside when its use had run its course. He still had his mask on, that couldn't be comfortable.

Rule number one with Erik; never for any reason remove his mask. But he just look so miserable laying like that, I had to do something to ease it.

Creeping silently toward, I could see that he'd cried himself to sleep, from his red rimmed and puffy eyes. He did not deserve this. If- when I get my hands on that insufferable fop, I'll ring his skinny neck.

Revenge; later. Best friend; now.

As gently as I could, I slipped his mask from his face and placed it on his nightstand. He hadn't so much as twitched; he must be out of it. He was always hyperaware of when someone touched his mask; he would awake from the dead to stop them. He must be beyond exhausted.

I'll get her back of you, I promised.

*.*.*

The city of Paris had a fine dusting of snow covering every surface. The irony of the city looking so pure and perfect, while something horrible, rotten, and heartbreaking was happening didn't escape my notice. The good lord certainly had an odd sense of humor.

I meant what I said to Erik weeks ago, about God sending him his angel while at the same time making him appear the angel. Again odd humor. I don't go to service, I never saw the point.

From what I read, God was far too mysterious for anything our human minds could grasp. So why go to another human, who really was just giving you a guess, with no guarantee? And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have the time. I spent a majority of my time making sure Erik didn't actually turn around the bend.

I never would nor want to associate the word crazy with Erik. Intense, eccentric, passionate, those were Erik. He never did anything small, it was always a big production, but that made it all the more fun to watch it all come together.

And I guess it was his way of making up for lost time. But no matter what he did, it couldn't fix his lack of positive human interaction. His time with the gypsies had seriously damaged his confidence around people; he was suspicious of everyone, and slow to trust.

I still to this day don't understand what made him take me in, not that I'm not grateful, but it was very disconcerting to have him regard me as though I would at any point cause him harm.

It wasn't until I accidentally walked in on him without his mask and hadn't baited an eye did that change, and we actually became friends.

The first time I saw what was underneath the mask, was when he was saving me from those thugs. And even then I wasn't scared by it. The mask scared me more then his real face. I was a young kid alone in Paris, but I knew a good person when I saw them. Afterwards, I had never mentioned I saw his face. I didn't see it as lying so much as if he wasn't going to talk about it neither was I.

The second time, he became intensely morose. Muttering how I was going to leave, how I shouldn't have to live with a monster, how I had every right to run away screaming. It tore at my heart. The only way to stop him was to tell him that I had already seen his face. He…didn't take it well.

That was the first time his anger was directed at me, and it was quite fearsome. But in comparison to the fear I had from those thugs and my only friend flying off the handle. One dwarfed the other. That and I am as hot-blooded as he is sometimes, maybe that's why we get along.

"Did it escape your notice that I've known this whole time and I haven't betrayed your location, or treated you any different then anyone else?" I had yelled at him. I don't know if it was the shock of me having the courage to meet him head-on or the accuracy of my reasoning. Whichever it was he went dead quite.

After that the redoubled his efforts with Christine, because now he had hope that a 'normal' person could look past his face. The problem with hope is; it can either make getting where your going all the sweeter or make the fall all that harder.

With Christine's 'betrayal' he would no doubt take the deepest fall ever. I prayed he would throw himself into his music, his passion. Least then he wouldn't notice the time past.

I really hate going behind my friends back, but it was for his own good. At the rate he was going, he would very likely destroy himself, and that's not going to happen. I did the work.

I had spied on the fop and the managers, a little before I left. They were brainstorming creative ways to win back their public. It sounded like they were leaning to a masked ball of some sort around new years.

I almost laughed out loud at the idea. The fools were actually going to have a masked ball where a masked ghost was haunting the place. Oh the irony.

As I was taking my leave, the fop was passing the managers to swipe the place for Erik. But the managers refused, on the grounds that when provoked Erik was less of a hassle. And all it took was a body to convince them. Hope they feel guilty.

It seemed as though they'd be there awhile so I went to visit Christine. Now that the fop had his claws into her, she'd most likely be at his estate. That would make it difficult to see her, if his help were around.

My first impression of the de Chagny estate was…bland. Oh it was beautiful, mind you. Elegant design, a well tended to garden, stupidly expensive. But it was all fake. An illusion he created for himself, to make himself believe his was happy and above everyone.

Ringing the bell, a very…elderly gentleman answered. I had to force myself not to react when I first laid eyes on him. He was as I said, very old, his skin resembled that of old parchment; crumpled and hanging off his bones. His back was nearly bent in two, giving him an unfortunate hunch.

It wasn't that it was scary, it was just unsettling.

"May I help you?" he drawled, glaring at me. I never like it when people glare at me, or some much as glance at me. I think people when they look at anybody, instinctively look for something to pick at, to make the other feel bad about themselves.

The man in front of me was no exception; the tone he used to address me was distasteful. I learned some people aren't much to look at inside or out. And they saw nothing wrong with themselves, they were content to go about and nitpick anyone for the slightest flaw.

At least Erik _tried. _He wanted to better himself. He hadn't given up yet and that was what set him apart from the rest, where his redemption lie.

"Yes. I'm Mariana la Clare. I'm here to visit Christine Daae," I said politely. "I have no knowledge of such a visit," he sniffed, impatiently. "I'm a good friend of hers. She asked the Vicomte to give me this letter when he arrived at the opera house," I lied smoothly, holding out my fake letter.

Now wasn't the time to take chances. I doubted anyone at the estate would recognize Christine's hand by now but just incase I forged it. Another talent I learned from Erik. He snatched the letter from my hand. Good Lord rich people are rude!

"Ah yes. My sincerest apologies Mademoiselle la Clare, I was not informed. Would you like to come in?" he asked, ushering me in. I doubted he was genuinely sorry, but then again this was not a real visit. So we were both at fault.

"May I take your cloak, mademoiselle?" he asked cordially, standing as straight as his hunch would allow. Funny, a few moments ago he was ready to shot me off the premises. "No thank you," I answered. I heard the help had stickier fingers then ally dwellers.

He led me to a grand parlor with a roaring fire in a marble fireplace. "Miss Daae, you have a visitor," he announced. I stepped out from behind him and saw Christine sitting in one of the chairs, a confused look on her face.

"I was most pleased to receive your letter Christine," I said, winking at her to let her in on the ruse. She smiled. "Oh yes. How good of you to come. I wasn't expecting you to arrive so soon," she said. Great improve, but then the girl was an actress.

"Is there anything else you require?" the man asked. "No thank you. That will be all, Jeffery," Christine dismissed. Once the doors were closed, I got right to the point.

"Christine, what happened? Where are here with that fop?" I inquired. "Is it true? Did my angel really kill Buquet?" she demanded. "Yes, he did," I admitted. "_Why_?" she insisted. I sighed wearily. "It's all my fault. I was trying to find him, to tell him you wanted to meet up after the play. That's went Buquet caught me, and he threatened me."

I looked her in the eye, her expression slightly confused, and worried. "I'm not sorry he's dead. The reason being; I've lurked in the opera houses darkest corners. I am very much aware of what he did, what he could have done to me. Therefore, I have no compassion for the brute. The only thing I'm sorry about in this affair is that it hurt your trust in your angel," I explained.

"It was a shock to see him commit a murder, but I like to think I know him well enough to know he had a good reason. Now that I know he did it to protect a friend, it does put my mind at ease. I always knew Buquet was a creep of a man," she said seriously.

At least she was not ignorant of facts and can admit being wrong. That's a good trait to have. But then if she knew there was a reason behind Erik's actions, then why was she here? "Christine, what happened after Buquet was hanged?" I asked.

She averted her eyes to the fire for a moment then she looked back at me. "I did something terrible. I willingly agreed to rip my poor angel's heart into a thousand pieces," she said her voice cracking in sadness. "What happened?" I pressed.

"Raoul knew I loved my angel, and that he was also the phantom and he refused to have me in his arms. So he threatened to kill him if I didn't agree to proclaim my love for Raoul and deny my love for my angel and go with him afterward," she explained tearfully.

"That bastard!" I shouted. Christine looked shock at my foul language. "Tell me he's not," I challenged. That foul, low-life, scurge of the lowest sewers threaten Erik's life to get Christine on his arm,

It was clear that the fop knew he was out matched, so he sought to get rid of the competition. If threats, fear, and intimation was how he planned on getting a lady, he had no business courting. I was sorely tempted to hang the bastard myself. But a quick death wouldn't do him justice for what he'd done or tried to do.

"How's my angel?" she asked, genuine worry clear in her voice. For a moment I thought about not telling her anything. Erik was not at his best, knowing this would upset her more. But I found myself bending to those pleading eyes.

"I think for you to truly understand his reaction now is to know about his past. I'm not going to tell you exactly what it is because that's his business. But I can sum it up in one word; gypsies," I said.

She recoiled and gasped in horror, her eyes began to swim in unshed tears. She understood alright. Gypsies weren't known for being the nicest type of people, to anyone. With Erik and his skin condition- as I call it- they were beyond brutal.

"Oh my poor angel," she whimpered tears beginning to fall. Was it horrible of me to be happy with her reaction? She shed tears for Erik's pain like a true lover would. I don't like that I was making her cry but I needed to know if she was serious in her pursuit of her angel. My friend couldn't take being jerked around much longer.

"I'm as bad as they were to him," she muttered bitterly, her face darkening. "I dealt him the worst blow. I denied him the love he so desperately needed. I took advantage of his trust and took away his mask. I didn't apologize because an apology did not sound like enough. I wanted to go to him at that very moment, on the roof, but I stopped myself because I wanted him to live. But how much can he live with a broken heart? What kind of person am I to cause him more pain than he has already endured?"

She dissolved into a sobbing mess. I embraced her gently and gave her a moment. I once heard it was harder to find fault in oneself then in others. Apparently these two hadn't heard that. They blamed themselves for the each others pain.

"Christine, I think I know a way for you to reunite with your angel but before I tell you. I have to know…will you fight for him?" I asked. She looked at me confused. "It won't be easy. The man you've chosen to love is not the easiest to covince. He is skeptical of everyone's intentions toward him and weary of his own emotions.

"The only way to be with him is to never give him a single doubt. He already loves you, yes even now. He wouldn't be hurting this bad if he didn't. It's a lot to ask of you. That's why I ask. So can you do that?" I asked.

She looked at me with such a fierce determination I almost stepped away form her. "I want him more then everything else I have ever wanted in life. And I'll be damned if I let some stuffed shirt peacock take him from me without a fight!"

"Bravo!" I cheered. "That is the right answer. Okay, from what I gleamed from the managers, is that they plan to hold a mask ball at the Opera Populaire on new years. Yes a masked ball," I repeated at her look of disbelief. She too could believe the stupidity of the managers. "Your angel will come as well and humble his managers once again."

The thing with Erik was, if he left you alone it was only because he was planning something big. The more time to himself, the worse it was for the rest. Even now, as sad as he was, he would let people rule over him. He had been there and he was not going back ever.

"During this event I'll sneak you away and get you two together and you can talk," I said.

"I like the plan, but Raoul is adamant about staying by my side," she said. "I doubt he'll be thinking straight when he sees your Angel," I assured. "If you can make that happen then you're welcome to it. I just want my angel safe," she said. "That, I can do."

The sound of a clock chiming caught my attention. I pulled out my sliver pocket watch and looked at the time. It was that late! I needed to leave, that fop could be back at any moment, and I'd rather not see him now. Cause I'd hit him.

"I best be getting back. But before I go, I have a gift for you," I said, as I pulled out a simple emerald necklace. "Oh it's beautiful. It looks like my angel eyes," she gushed. "I know that's why I brought. A little something to remember him, while your suck here," I said giving it to her. "Thank you," she said.

"You're most welcome. I better head back. If I'm not there, he's likely to drop the chandelier on the place," I joked. "Oh, he wouldn't do that," she giggled. "We are talking about the same man, correct?" I inquired. "He might," she admitted. Then we erupted in a fit of giggles.

*.*.*

Erik didn't seem to notice my absence when I return. He had cleaned up the chaos from his episode the previous night. The lair had never been clean but at least now there was a method to the madness.

He was bowed over his organ, playing a few notes and writing them down if he liked them, trying again if he didn't. I deliberately scraped me boots against the rock floor so he'd know I was there.

His shoulder tensed up a fraction when I placed my hand on it. His expression was blank. I gave him a reassuring smile, and griped his shoulder tighter. He smiled back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The message was received though.

He knew that he wasn't completely alone. I had done my part. I set the wheels in motion now it was up to Christine and Erik.

Three months…when you say it like that it seems so short. And yet the time in-between was unbearable.

*.*.*

Okay finally finished with this chapter. Sorry it took so long. The Christmas month is crazy busy.

R and R.


	5. Chapter 5

New chapter, new laptop, I'm inspired. Sorry it took so long there was a lot of drama to type up.

Disclaimer; the usual.

*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

Three months…

Three long months without my angel's voice or music. Life felt empty and deathly dull. There was no spark, no passion. I had never felt this alone. Even after my father passed, the void he left behind was filled by my angel. And now both were gone.

He had always seemed like a dream, everything about him, even his music. But he was out there, I had to believe that. If I lost him, what was I?

I passed the lonely days staring at my emerald necklace, holding it up to the light to make it sparkle like his eyes.

I pieced together a picture of him from all the short times I had had with him. His shining emerald eyes, his raven feathered hair, his simple yet elegant clothing, the look of utter contentment on his face, _all_ of his face; right before he realized I had unmasked him, all of him wrapped in a silvery halo of the moonbeams from the roof. He walked with me, gracing me with the most beautiful smile on his face.

I pictured this every chance I had. That is, when Raoul finally unhinged himself from my side. He wanted to make sure I held up my end of the deal.

The man had no regard for my personal space, or held my opinion in any value. I'm not a violate person, but everyone had their breaking point. If he didn't leave me alone and stop talking, I would be force to lay hands on him.

He took me to many a ball, brought me fancy dresses and jewelry. To everyone he was charming, handsome, and perfect. To have him by my side and be showered in riches, that is the life any woman would dream of having.

Any woman but me.

This was dull and unsatisfactory, it was predictable. With my angel there was excitement, fiery passion, and everything was unpredictable yet not unwelcomed. Life was a constant burst of the most beautiful colors and shapes. I wanted so badly to return to it, I ached for it.

Finally, on the eve, before the masquerade, Raoul did the unthinkable. _He proposed_.

It was nothing like I thought it'd be. I always imagined the man I loved, to kneel in front of me, confess his undying love to me, both of us would fight back tears; me more so than him. Then I'd embrace him with my answer, and he'd twirl me around in his joy. Or I'd threaten to burst from happiness, that I'd answer him before he finished the question.

…Or faint from happiness, and he never really had to speak the words. That is what my angel did. I could have torn my hair out at my sheer stupidity at my actions that night. If I had not fainted I might be married now, to the real and only man I ever loved. Instead, I was stuck with a stuffed, self-centered, arrogant peacock, who just wanted a pretty prize on his arm.

He knew I could not refuse or he'd hunt down my angel. He didn't care about loving me or being together forever, it was to show the world he had won.

He may have forced me to say yes but I stopped him just shy of claiming his prize. In my three months at the de Chagny estate, I had a lot of time to practice acting, and I had seen many of my fellow dancers being all a twitter over such things. I had asked to keep it quiet, because I wanted to tease my fellow dancers.

I will admit acting all bubbly and enthusiastic was quite nauseating, yet necessary. And like a fool, he believed me. What did he care if my feelings were real? So long as he got what he desired, so long as I wasn't with my angel and acted the way he wanted; he had no objections.

*.*.*

The night of the masquerade, my stomach threatened to cave in on itself and my heart to burst out of my chest. The sky was filled with bright fireworks, lighting up the opera house in its colors. Once the door open I was confronted by the swirling vortex of people in puffy gowns, slick suit, and ornament costumes.

There were sure to be people I knew here, but their masks concealed their face from everyone. I began to worry that I would be unable to find Mariana or my angel.

Raoul began pestering me about my decision about keeping our engagement a secret. Claiming it was nothing to be ashamed of, that it wasn't a crime. If it wasn't a crime, then why did I feel like I should have been arrested for hurting an innocent man, whose only crime was loving me?

I had hidden his gaudy engagement ring on a silver necklace to keep wondering eyes from seeing it. I placated him as best I could, and avoided his kisses. Saying that he would understand in time. He would understand…when he saw me in the arms of my angel.

A new song began to play, a lively, spirited jig. "May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?" a voice asked from my left. I turned and saw a young lady in a simple yet elegant island blue dress, her black hair a pile of curls atop her head with a crown of peacock feathers. A black satin mask with blue curly design on it hide her features.

"I believe you'll find this dance…most enlightening," she said, giving me a wink, and a wide smirk. A glance confirmed that Raoul was far too much in an in-depth conversion with the managers, to notice my absence. I gladly let the girl escort me onto the dance floor.

"I must say I wouldn't have recognized you, had you not signaled me," I said conversationally. "What made it hard; the mask or the dress?" she inquired. "Both actually," I answered. "In my line of work trousers are less of a fashion faux pas," she explained.

"Ah yes. How does an apprenticeship of a phantom pay? It can't be much of a business," I teased. "Our masked friend makes twenty thousand francs a month, for making nothing more than a nuisance of himself. The point could be made that it's a quite lucrative business, yes?" she asked.

I giggled at her statement. "You dance very well," I complemented. "Your angel taught me. Just because I don't much care for acting like a lady, doesn't mean I can't be when the need arises, and if the need arose I should know what to do" she explained. "I would love to dance with him," I said wistfully. "If tonight goes as planned, you will have your wish," she promised.

"I'm worried I won't be able to know which one is my angel, unless I was looking right into his eyes," I said. "You won't have to worry about that. He'll make himself known to everyone in the room. The man has a flare for dramatics, even in a room full of masks he can stand out, just you wait," she assured.

"From what I can understand, he plans to insult the people that infuriate him the most, and demand that they put on the play he has recently finished. And this time, he will not take no for an answer. The saying goes 'seeing is believing'. And tonight everyone will believe there is an angry ghost haunting this place. After which he'll make a grand retreat, and then I'll catch him and take you to meet up with him."

"What about Raoul?" I asked worried. Raoul was not likely to let my angel come and go as he pleased. Raoul thrived on control, and he would not let my angel near me so easily. "I'm counting on him getting all hot and bothered at your angel's appearance and go after him. Your angel is well aware that the fop may come after him, he wants to make him feel inferior, to know he was so close yet fail," she explained.

She said it with such confidence, it sounded foolproof. But my nerves would not be calmed. Nothing was going to calm me until I had my angel in my arms.

"How has he been?" I asked. The question hung in the air, making the space between us tense. She sighed heavily. "I would like to not answer that question, on the grounds that it will upset you, but there's no point in sending you in blind. I think the voices are talking to him, again."

At my alarmed looked she continued. "The voices, to my knowledge are any and all insults and attacks he has been subjected to in his life. He's never listened to them before, but now he believes he has nothing more to lose. So he believes them, and they are not saying nice things. The topic of death has come up more times then I'd like to admit."

I gasped in horror. "Christine, I know it's hard, believe me but if there's one thing in this world that can make him right; it's you. As long as you're his and he knows it, nothing will take him. You just need to stake your claim."

I nodded, pushing back tears. I had to be strong, if anyone wanted my angel gone, they'd have to go through me. I was not going to come so close and come up short. And if my angel didn't believe then I'd make him believe by any means. It'd be easier if he wasn't such a stubborn mule.

The song was coming to an end; soon I'd have to contend with Raoul again. I felt a pair of eyes staring at me, it didn't feel like my angels gaze. Mariana was staring intently at my ring.

"I'd hide that better if I were you. Your angel will most definitely forget himself once he sees you but if he sees that ring, he's going to get very mad, very fast," she warned. "With any luck he'll snatch it from me and destroy it," I hissed. "No trouble there," she assured.

The song had ended, and within a second Raoul wrapped his arms around me. Frantically, I glanced toward Mariana, but she had disappeared. She had learned from the best. Another song behind to play, and Raoul dragged me back unto the dance floor. On the stairs masked dancers moved down the stairs, showing off their masks with gold and silver fans.

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade.

Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you.

Masquerade, every face a different shade.

Masquerade, look around, there's another mask behind you.

Masquerade, burning glances, turning heads.

Masquerade, stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you.

Masquerade, grinning yellows, spinning reds.

Masquerade, take your fill, let the spectacle astound you…" they trailed off as the once lit foyer descended into gloom.

Everyone let out a gasp of horror at the figure that appeared at the top of the staircase. Mariana was right; even in a room full of masks, my angel stood out. He was dressed all in vibrant scarlet; a full white mask with sculpted veins concealed his true features from the astounded gazes.

Slowly, leisurely like he was strolling through the park without a care in the world, he made his way down the stairs, mocking the people around him, his words dripping with sarcasm. His long cape trailed behind him like a trail of blood…

I found myself amazed that he could appear at a party dressed like the red death, look so menacing and yet I had to hold back the urge to embrace him. To stake my claim for him in front of everyone, and him by finally claiming his lips, and not give a damn what anyone thought of it. But Raoul had a death grip on my arm.

A flash of silver at his waist caught my eye. He brought a sword! Mariana was right again, he was proving to everyone present he was not to be brushed aside as a mere myth, that he was dangerous.

"Why so silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?" he asked mockingly, with a little smirk on his face. He was actually enjoying this. And why not? These people ignored him, and pushed him aside. And he didn't let them get away with it either. He was real, he saw people for what they were, and he told them the cold hard truth, and he knew they hated it. They wanted an angry ghost, they got the worst one.

"Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera." He held up a black book that he carried. "Here I bring the finished score. Don Juan Triumphant!" He threw it down at the managers' feet, making them jump, the sheet music spilling out on the steps.

In the same fluid movement he drew his sword, glancing around the room with the same delight as a child at their first day at the fair, or opening presents Christmas morn, although I was fairly certain most children weren't as violent, least not with actual swords.

"Fondest greetings to you all, a few instructions just before rehearsals start." I became aware of the space beside me where Raoul had just occupied. He couldn't resist the chance to harm my angel. Said angel, however, had not noticed me just yet. Instead he turned to La Carlotta.

"La Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of _strutting_ 'round the stage," he sneered softly, sticking his sword into her hat and jiggling it around a little and she looked honestly shocked by his harsh words.

I smiled a little in spite of the mood, as Piangi stepped forward to defend his lady. This was not a very valiant effort on his part or a very smart one as he was unarmed. Erik simply stuck the sword against his paunchy belly, and shook his head slightly in warning.

"Our Don Juan must lose some weight; it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age." While I was fighting back the laugh that threatened to erupt from my lips, everyone else held back their screams of terror. It also occurred to me that everyone just assumed my angel would do something wicked. Forgoing the fact that with that sword he could just cut us down now, instead he walked into enemy territory and merely criticized people. All spark and no fire, metaphorically speaking of course.

Now my angel turned to the managers, who for men of such bravado, and who were constantly correcting people that they were in the scrap metal business, shriveled at the very glance of their mythical ghost, and his very real and deadly sword.

"And my managers must learn that their place is in an _office_." He casually swung his sword about, and then pointed it in their faces, and they whimpered like wounded dogs, sinking nearly to the floor.

"Not the arts." His gaze flickered to me, and he put his sword away. "As for our star, Miss _Christine Daae_." I looked up to him, my gaze steadfast. I wanted to show him that although he may scare all these people, he did not scare me. This idea proved more difficult than I thought, as the sight of his intense fiery emerald gaze made my breath quicken.

"No doubt she'll do her _best_; it's true, her voice is good. She's knows though, should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn. If pride will let her return to me her teacher… her teacher," he trailed off. His gaze likewise locking with mine.

Three months had not in the slightest diminished the sparks between us, if anything they had grown more intense. We stared into each other's eyes, just as entranced as we had been the first night we had met, and both of us caught in each other's spell. We both seemed to have trouble breathing, thrown for a loop at the rush of emotions.

After all the torment I had put him through, he still was offering to take me back. There was a change in his eyes; the defenses that usually barricaded his heart and feelings were gone. He seemed almost vulnerable in his desperation, the longing evident in his stare. He didn't care anymore, I realized, to him this was his last chance; if he failed this time then he would succumbed to his dark thoughts.

That look decided for me. I pushed all the people in the room, who were watching us intently; whispering about what they thought we did together, out of my mind. Let them think what they want, I did not care. My angel was in trouble with himself and was begging me to save him from himself.

I stepped forward shakily, still not sure why he would forgive me so easily. He mirrored me, almost automatically, like we were magnetically linked. Anything I did, he did to accommodate my movement, and I in turn did the same. We stopped less than a foot apart.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Raoul running along the hallway towards the ballroom. As soon as he noticed I was standing before my angel, he broke out into sprint, drawing a sword from his newly attached belt. His movement broke my angel from his trance, and as he turned to face the new threat he suddenly went ridged.

_The ring_, damn that thing. He wrenched the ring off my chest, breaking the chain in his force. "Your chains are still mine!" Then leaning in close, he whispered harshly, my angel was replaced by the opera ghost. "You belong to _me!"_ I wanted to scream "You think I don't know that! I have been trying to come back to you!" Before I could, he ran back up the stairs and then disappeared in a sudden puff of red smoke and fire.

Raoul shoved me aside and jumped down the hole, his own sword at the ready. As soon as he vanished the hole in the floor sealed back up. The room was a mass of frightened people. Suddenly a hand tugged at my arm. "Come with me quick," Mariana whispered urgently. I let her lead me out of the ballroom and into the hallways.

She pushed us through the crowd with the ease, like the crowd was not even there. And no one stopped us. Vaguely, I wondered so this was what it was like to be a phantom. She led me to my dressing room. "Wait here, I'll go collect your angel," she said before disappearing. Now that I was truly alone no onlookers, no Raoul, no angel, I was suddenly afraid, and wanted to hide.

Then I felt silly. Fear was pointless. My angel would not hurt me…yell at me; probably, glare at me; without a doubt. But I had no reason to fear this meeting. I had already lived through the most horrible time ever; stuck in Raoul's constant company for three months with his whiney voice and sloppy kisses- ugh.

The fear must come from the knowledge that if I failed to convince my angel of my love for him, I'd lose him for good. A deep shudder ripped through me at the thought. Yes that was definitely it. Given my angels current mood maybe it was best he didn't see me right away. With that I hide behind my changing rack.

I did not have to wait long. Soon voices reached my ear. "Mariana whatever it is that you wanted to show me, can't it wait until later? I'm tired," my angle protested. "It can't wait any longer, my friend," Mariana said. "You've been strange all evening," my angel observed, as the door opened, and he walked in. he looked so handsome in the candlelight.

"You are right I have been strange. I've arranged a meeting for you with someone who wanted to see you," she replied. He seemed agitated and demanded, "Who else in this godforsaken world would want to see…" Before he could finish, I timidly stepped out from my hiding spot. His usually brilliant green eyes met mine. They widened in surprise when they fell upon me. I gulped and greeted him, "Hello, Angel…"

Suddenly fear replaced his surprised and he took a step away from me. At that same moment, Mariana shut the door behind him and locked it. And just like that he was furious again.

Reaching the door in two strides, he began to pound on it with his fists. "Mariana, unlock this door, this minute!" he shouted more enrage then I ever saw him. He did not like to be tricked, but I had accepted this and was content to wait for my turn.

"No," Mariana replied, firmly. "_What_?" he hissed lowly. "I'm sorry from going behind your back, but you didn't give me a choice. I was not going to sit around and watch you destroy yourself, because you're too stubborn. Just talk to her, please," she pleaded.

His hand curled into a fist, but didn't slam it against the door. Slowly he turned to face me, his face impassive. "Why are you here? I'm sure your precious _Vicomte _would not approve of his fiancé being here with a monster," he snarled.

I hated it when he called himself such vile things. I answered with resolve, "I have something to I've been meaning to tell you, my angel..." He looked back at me sharply. Anger seemed to be his default expression for the evening. "And what would that be, Christine! Whatever could you have to say to some… some _thing _that you had so carelessly cast aside! Especially when that thing had been so foolish as to fall in love with you…" he choked out the last sentence, and his head hung in defeat.

His emotion brought out a determination the likes of which I had never thought myself capable, but I would not allow him to leave me again. He needed someone to show him love. I knew this must frighten, terrify him, for he had never had this before but I would go as far I could to prove him wrong.

"Angel, the night of Il Muto, after you killed Joseph Buquet. I went to the roof with the intention of asking you, why you did it. But in my flight to meet you, Raoul grabbed me and demanded that I come away with him and leave you. I refused on the grounds that I didn't love him; that I loved you." My angel let out a sharp gasp; his eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and then leaned heavily against the opposite wall to keep himself from crumpling to the floor at my words.

But I wasn't done. "He threatened to kill you if I didn't comply with his demands. And I couldn't bear to live in a world where your music is forever gone. Every word I said on that roof was for you, I changed it so Raoul would be appeased." I finished. My angel looked at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable. He seemed to be locked in an internal battle with himself. Fighting back the hope that my words were true, in case there were not and caused him more pain.

"Why do you torture me, Christine? Could you not just leave me be…? You should leave, your fiancé will want to you back," he choked out again. Tears tried again to claim me. I smiled and told him sincerely, "No, I don't think I ever can leave you. I love you too much." He looked up at me again, and I could swear that his tearful eyes held the most immense, heartbreaking misery I'd ever see. He looked away again.

"Please, Christine, I can't do this anymore. My soul, mind and body have exhausted themselves. I can't take any more empty hope, or false truths. Please just leave me, and forget me," he pleaded. "Never again," I vowed. "I want to be with you."

"Why…?" he whispered, his body trembling, his chest heaving with erratic and shallow breaths. Such raw emotion was present there, and there was no mask to conceal or contain it any longer, my actions had ensured that. I had torn away every piece of his defenses in my refusal to leave him. I could see the pain I'd inflicted within him, his eyes clearly reflecting the betrayal that ignorant, stupid people had forced unto him by not trying to understand him. The anguish flooding his eyes brought an indescribable ache to the very core of my being.

"When I first heard your voice in the chapel, I had never heard anything so beautiful in my life. I fell in love with your music and then with the idea of you, but it was that night that I felt I could really love you. You became a man of flesh and blood. A man I could hold and claim as mine."

The silence that once again followed my words was broken by a hollow sound that I vaguely recognized as laughter—empty, lifeless…_dead_ laughter. "A man…" he repeated slowly, as if it was an unknown term. "You seek the man do you, Christine? You seek the hollow shell that remains after all these years of despair, of enduring cruelty the likes of which you could never hope to comprehend? You seek the soul ravaged by hatred and disgust by the world's ignorance? There is no man left for you to love Christine. He died from the world's cruelty a long time ago," he spat bitterly.

"I don't believe that. I saw him when he stole me away for one night of magic. I saw him when I removed your mask, before the opera ghost came," I insisted. He looked at me dubiously. It was odd to call him by two different people, but it was true. There was my kind, loving passionate angel, and the embodiment of rage, the opera ghost. He wasn't going to believe me by mere words, but maybe he'd believe through my actions. "May I see you again?" I asked, gently.

"Please…Do not ask me to expose to you the ugliness within me. I cannot, will not bear the sight of disgust and horror as it twists your face yet again," he pleaded raggedly. "I was never repulsed by you, or the sight of your face. It was what your face represents; the thought of the pain it caused you. The thought of the horrors you were put through...that is what made me react as I did. And I regret it, as all I have done is cause you more pain, but I just cannot stand to see my beautiful Angel hurt."

"You jest, Christine." I shook my head shakily and told him, "I do not. I'm in love with you." Disbelief, hope, suspicion, all battled for dominance in his features. In his confusion, I reached up to remove his mask. He immediately recoiled, his back hitting the wall, his eyes blown wide in fear. On instinct his hand rose to cover his face. "Pitiful creature of darkness…What kind of life had you known? God gave me courage to show you, you are not alone! I won't run, I won't look upon you with anything other than the love I feel for you," I vowed my eyes locked with his.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally jerked his head in a nod, and lowered his hand, letting it fall limply at his side. With his permission, I gazed upon his face once more. His eyes were clenched shut, probably to avoid seeing the horror on my face despite my promise.

Now I had the chance to study his face, I couldn't see what he was so unsettled about. It was matted and harsh, but to me it seemed like one of those things were if you looked closely enough you saw the real picture behind it. The distortion of his face was a part of him, just like his voice—his golden voice that so often had mesmerized and enthralled me down to the core. He did so many beautiful and all inspiring things it was ludicrous to condemn him for one small trifle. It was then I noticed his hair seemed different in the way it laid on his head.

I reached up then pause, doing something without his permission is what lost him to me before. "May I?" I asked. Another jerky nod. A long shudder went through my Angel as I pulled off his black wig. The bumpy, crimson, hairless and pitted skin of his face extended halfway up the right side of his head, going back past his ear.

Reaching up to ghost my fingers through the silky strands that grew in attractive disarray over the rest of his head. The color was rich and dark like honey, with highlights that glinted like gold in the candlelight. It struck me as odd that he claimed to be a being of the night and yet his hair was like a sun's rays. It had him even more gorgeous then his raven hair.

He was shaking again from the torrent his emotions assaulted upon him. I wanted to say something heartfelt to ease his worries. What I said however was, "Your hair's blond." I felt the urge to smack myself at the stupidity of my obvious statement. My angel let out an odd, strangled choking sound, which I couldn't decide if it was a sob or surprised laughter. "Oh, Christine," he whispered, opening his eyes to gaze at me, happiness shining in his eyes, "After everything that's happened, still you manage to surprise me."

Smiling lovingly and reassuringly, I reached up and cupped his marred cheek in my hand. It felt _good_ to touch him, to feel the flesh that always had been so carefully hidden from my gaze. The skin was cold and so heavily wrought with thick, knotted scars that it didn't feel like flesh at all. But it was, and it was a part of him just as much as anything else.

His hand closed around my wrist, and for a moment I thought I had once again overstepped my boundaries, and I waited for him to pull away. But the moment passed without incident, encouraged by the calm expression on his face I did the boldest thing I could think of.

I kissed his cheek, his brow, his nose, and across the parted seam of his mouth which was releasing ragged breaths. His cheek burrowed into my palm. There was something wet streaking down between my fingers. He was crying.

He trembled with the sudden onslaught of emotions and sensations he had never experienced before. The only feeling ever to be bestowed on these harsh features was brutal and cruel, now that tenderness comfort and love had touched them he seemed at a lost as how to react.

"May I finally learn the name of my sweet beautiful angel?" I asked.

"…Erik."

His voice was just barely audible. His voice that use to be filled with such power and wonder fell to a soft, helpless whisper. "Erik." I murmured softly, the name fell from my tongue like a caress. It was a handsome name for my handsome angel. And Erik trembled at the sound of his name on my lips.

My other hand moved to cup his left cheek, cradling his whole face between my palms. The tears fell fast and free, as I continued to place soft, warm kisses along the misshapen slope of his face my fingertips brushing through the thin at his temples.

I planted another on his forehead, anywhere that held his scars. His arms hesitantly came around my waist, as mine went around his shoulders. They shook with his wracked sobs. His head bowed low as he wept, coming to rest in the cradle of my shoulder.

Closing my eyes to savor the moment, I took in the scent that was uniquely Erik. Warm, rich, clean, fresh, masculine. Whatever he claimed himself to be, or whatever the world accused him of no longer mattered. He would always be my Erik.

Slowly, hesitantly I felt his head rise from my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see his face so near to mine. His eyes were now soft, filled with a gentler emotion than the fiery anger before. He moved my hands from his shoulders and held them in his own. He opened his mouth and began to sign to me once again. Oh how I missed his angelic voice.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude," he sang softly. This was what Raoul had sung to me three months ago on the roof. Only now instead of fake sweet act to hurt his rival it was transformed into a passionate plea, each word branding itself on my heart.

I reached up to caress his cheek, but this time he did stopped me. Gently as though he were handling fine glass, he sled the diamond ring he stolen from me not so long onto my finger. It seemed to sparkle brighter now that the meaning behind it actually meant something.

"Say you want me with you, here beside you…"his voice rose to a vibrated crescendo. "Anywhere you go, let me go too…Christine."I felt a tear of happiness trail down my cheek; he gently brushed it away and the world around seemed to fade out. There was nothing but the two of us in our own world

"That's all I ask of you." He swallowed hard, and then slowly, carefully he gently touched my cheek with his hand. I leaned into it and closed my eyes. His hand was warm. "Christine…" he whispered again. I opened my eyes in response. "I love you," he whispered passionately. "I love you too," I whispered back, giving him a watery smile. Then, he put his arms around me, and his lips took possession of mine.

Everything exploded into color. I heard the most beautiful music in my ears. For a moment he was still as if he were unsure what to do, as if he thought he'd never get this far, but as I swept my hands across his chest and over the ridge of his collarbone, every muscle shivered into life and he held me tight against him.

He was uncertain and inexperienced, which made my heart swell with affection for him. When he responded in imitation to me, a small moan escaped me. I could feel his lips turn up in a smile. When I pulled away, a smile had indeed lit his features. It was more beautiful than anything I had imagined. As I leaned my forehead against his, I knew that all was right in our little world at that moment.

…and then it was over.

There came a loud enraged muffled shout, followed immediately by the sound of someone hitting the door. "OW!" Mariana shouted. Suddenly the door flow open, Mariana glanced around frantically then when her eyes spotted us she grinned widely. "Okay let me start out by saying I'm very happy for the two of you…but we have a problem. The Vicomte is threating to tear down the place looking for Christine."

Sorry this chap took so long, there was a lot of romance to think up.

Next chap Christine confronts Raoul and she finally spends some time with her angel.

R & R


	6. Chapter 6

Here we go. Sorry about the wait this chap goes way off the radar. One more after this and then it's the cemetery scene. This ones a little shorter but it finished on a high note. So enjoy.

Disclaimer: the usual.

*.*.*

(Eric's pov)

I had had it with that insufferable fop. He had distressed my Christine greatly by threatening me. And though I felt light and warmed at the length she went to save me, I wanted his head off for putting his hands on her.

And now he was tearing apart my opera house and once again interrupting my time with Christine. Nothing could please me more tonight then to be rid of that despicable clod once and for all. As it were, my angel was fully aware of where my mind was.

"Eric, do not give him a reason. Let me go and deal with him. It'll be alright, trust me," she assured, brushing a soft gentle kiss on my marred cheek before taking flight out the door.

No way in hell was I going to let Christine be near that peacock alone. My path however, was blocked by Mariana. "Eric, you can't go out like this. People are after you enough as it is. I'll handle it, you stay here," she insisted as she turned to leave.

Not good enough. No doubt she could win in a fair fight but there was nothing fair about that bastard. And I would not lose my best friend to that clown, I had almost lost my angel to him and chances were I still might. "Not a chance. I'm coming. This isn't an argument." I stated firmly. "Glad to hear that, because I am not making one," she said calmly, as she closed the door and locked me in once again.

"Mariana, open this door!" I shouted. No response. Damn that girl. I didn't waste my time with the door instead I slipped into the secret passageway behind the mirror.

*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

It didn't take me long to find Raoul. I was almost a hallway away from the ballroom when I found him. He wasted no time embracing me in his boney grip.

"Oh Christine, thank heaven you're safe. When I returned and found you gone, I thought that demon had absconded with you," he sighed in relief, then realized I did not share his sentiments. "Christine, what's the matter?" he asked stepping back to check me for injuries. His look of concern darkened into aggravated suspicion as his gaze fell on the ring on my finger.

"How did you come by this? I thought the phantom took it." His tone was low and even, it was the same as the one he used to make me leave my angel, but I couldn't make myself feel afraid. I couldn't feel anything other than pure happiness and joy.

I finally had everything I dreamed of, my angel was safe and loved by me. I hadn't lost him to his darkness. And no sense of duty or honor would sway my decision to stay with him.

"He did…but then he gave it back," I answered. Raoul grabbed my shoulders, his grip firm but not painful. Yet.

"Christine, where is he? No, never mind that. We must leave this place. We'll go away to London. I was a fool to allow you so close to him," he said, tugging me toward the ballroom. "No Raoul," I protested, withdrawing myself from his grip.

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I do not love you and I never shall. I'm calling off this engagement," I stated firmly, hoping he would finally understand. No such luck.

"Christine, please. Listen to yourself, you're talking madness again. It's obvious that being near him as renewed his dark spell on you. Please, Little Lottie, don't you see. This is proof we must leave this. All of this."

There it was. He finally asked me to give up my music. I knew he would but his words still angered me deeply.

"No! I have had it. I will not lie anymore. Not to myself and certainly not to my angel. I will not degrade myself just to better your image and I will not give up my music simply because of your jealously and greed," I stated, crossing my arms to show I was well and truly serious about my words.

"What are you talking about? Christine, I want none like that. I care about you," he said tenderly.

Not love, I noticed.

"No, you don't, Raoul. You care about me in relation to how I affect you," I said. "Not true, Christine. I deserve you," he stated to me confidently. "Get over yourself," I scoffed at his blatant arrogance. "Your bash actions and words will not make me stay."

His faced twisted unnaturally in a big sneer in response. "Did you forget Christine? With one word I can have every brick in this building torn away and your _precious_ angel hunted down like the rat he is," he grinned widely and horribly.

"Then do it. He and I will be gone long before you can even whistle for your dogs," I challenged, my voice calm and low with an edge.

He let out a sharp groan of frustration before he gripped my arm harder than ever and wrenched me close to his face. I forced myself not to react.

"Listen to me Christine. I will not lose you to that faceless, ugly, demon," he spat. I looked away from him. Knowing if I gazed at him any longer I would become violate with him for his cruel words toward Eric.

"Look at me!" he shouted, but still I refused. If I were any other lady, I would be terrified at his tone and his actions toward me, but I felt no fear. How could I? When the fear of forever losing my angel dwarfed a simple, plain man losing his temper, much like a child would when they do not have their way.

"What does this creature have that I don't? He is a cold-blooded, heartless, faceless, murderer," he shouted adamantly. It was being increasingly difficult to quell the urge to hit him, but striking him would get me nowhere.

"Meanwhile, I am handsome. I have money. And I have one of the greatest titles in all of Paris. I am better than him in every possible way. Why do you not see that!" he fumed.

"You may have all that now," I replied, my tone was that of one scolding a child. "But what about when it's all gone, what are you then? My angel has nothing and yet he is richer, stronger and more beautiful than anyone in the world, and if all that were gone, he'd still be all those things because nothing can ever take his passion from him.

"You could give me every material thing I could want, but it would never take the place of the one thing I need; my music. If you can't understand that then we'll have nothing more to do with each other."

He gripped my arm so much like a vice, that I could not hold back my gasp of pain.

"When will you understand Christine? You are mine! I will not allow that disgusting, heartless monster to have you!" he roared.

"I was never nor will I ever be yours! Now let go of me!" I shouted back. My hand flashed out and caught his cheek with a resounding _smack! _

In his pain, he released my arm, which was all invitation I needed to escape from him. Gathering up my skirts, I ran to the ballroom, where hopefully the eyes of an audience would dither his intent.

That hope, however, was dashed as soon as I let it grow. But then just as he entered the ballroom, a sharp loud whistle split through the nervous chattering and made the already terrified crowd freeze in fear.

Mariana dropped down from the second floor and landed directly in front of Raoul, while at the same time splashing a goblet of water in his face, causing him to stumble back in surprise.

She had exchanged her gown for a pair of black trousers and a blue shirt with sleeves so long they hide her hands, but still kept her mask. Her raven hair tumbled down and around her shoulders; giving her such a wild look that no one at first approached her.

And the way with which she held herself, more like an adult then her childlike form suggested. And her air was that of the one Eric had commanded in this ballroom not a few moments ago; a dark and malevolent aura that they wore around themselves like a cloak.

A smirk stretched across the lower half of her face though it tinged with amusement. Delighting in the fear of the crowd around her, just like Eric. Only I was sure this was the first time she ever made herself known to others. She didn't draw out her dramatic act; she went straight to the business she came for.

"Hello, fop," she drawled eloquently before her hand flashed out of her sleeve, making a papier-mâché ball hit Raoul square in the face, which exploded in a cloud of red powder, the very same that Eric used in his escape.

Raoul let out a cry of distress and clutched at his face. His cry awoke Firmin from his stupor enough to realize how little a threat Mariana posed as opposed to Eric. "Get her!" he shouted.

Taking her cue, she took flight to a wall with a curtain draped down it, pulled it aside, and hide behind it like she would with her friends in a game of hide and seek.

When the curtains were pulled back, she was gone, vanished. I couldn't help back smile at her shenanigans. Making a room full of adults look like utter fools.

With everyone's attention on Raoul, who I was sure was acting more injured then he really was, or Mariana's disappearing act, I stole away to the only place I knew Eric would find me; the chapel.

*.*.*

The chapel was empty when I arrived. The moonlight illuminated the stain glass, making the colors shift along the walls, and ground.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer, come to me, strange angel," I sang out to him.

There was no golden voice to answer my words, instead a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around my waist. "I missed you so much," breathed my angel's gentle, melodic voice over my ear, followed by a tender kiss behind my ear.

The voice, the touch, the kiss gave me shivers that ran up and down my spine, and made goose flash rise up my arms. I turned in those arms to the handsome face of my Eric. If his voice, touch, and kiss gave me goose bumps, his beautiful flawless emerald eyes and sweet, loving smile made me melt like snow when the sun breaks through the dense clouds of winter.

"I knew you'd find me," I sighed contently, sinking deeper into his arms. The homesickness that had me in its iron grasp these last few months was gone, now that I was in the arms of the only person who had sheltered me through the violent storms of my life.

I was finally with him. And now that I was I saw my musings of him and been more flawed then I realized. They had hardly done him justice, but now I could see him as many times as I desired. I was allowed one selfish thought, wasn't I?

"Let's go," he murmured quietly, pushing an unseen panel to open the secret passageway behind the statue of the angel. And he pulled me into his dark world, my home, once again.

*.*.*

The passion between us was still as thick in the air as on our first descent. The relief that that had remained unchanged almost made my legs crumple beneath me. Even when I doubted him, even when I wounded more than anyone else in his life, Eric was true.

"Happy New Year, mon amour," Mariana greeted us. "Happy New Year to you as well, and thank you for this wonderful evening," I said gratefully.

"The evening's not over yet," she said coyly. "Remember what we talked about during our dance, if everything went well?" she grinned mischievously. "Oh, you're right!" I cried excited, turning to Eric.

*.*.*

(Eric's pov)

She was here. My angel had returned to me. The voices were wrong. She cared nothing for that arrogant fop. She didn't even think my face was hideous.

No one had ever given me a gentle, loving touch, not even my own mother, not once. And yet she had _kissed_ me multiple times and caressed my deformity like I was made of blown glass, and looked at me like I was one of da Vinci's finest paintings.

I did not appreciate the tricks that were themed tonight, and I would be having a talk with Mariana about it later. But I honestly couldn't find it in me to be mad. Not when those same shady acts allowed me to be with my beautiful Christine.

I find myself unable to hold a single thought in my head, for they passed by too quickly. I wondered if this is what love feels like.

Suddenly Christine turned to look at me. My God she is gorgeous. Her warm chocolate eyes sparkled with delight, and she seemed to glow in her happiness. And the knowledge that I was the reason was almost too much for me to handle.

"May I have this dance?" she asked, sweetly and regally, holding her hand out for me to take.

I could dance, but I found myself at a lost to remember how! My mind simply cease to work. Love as I was quickly beginning to realize, was irrational. The more love you held for that person, the less sense everything else made, and it chose the most inopportune time to prove its fact.

"I…I have forgotten how," I muttered, ashamed. "Then I guess it's my turn to be the teacher," she giggled, grasping my cold hand in her warm one.

"Um, there's no music," I noted dumbly. My words were immediately followed by the soft notes of a violin. Looking up, there was Mariana with a violin gazing innocently at us, though all her actions tonight and I suspect the past few months were anything but.

"I'm no Daae, but I will try my best," she said, before returning to her music, a slow gentle waltz.

"Monsieur," Christine said curtseyed. "Mademoiselle," I bowed. She grasped my right hand in hers, placed my other on her waist. I felt my face heat up in response and felt my nerves threaten to overwhelm me. But then she smiled that smile that made this dark, gloomy world light up like the very fireworks that had graced the night sky earlier this night.

Soon my mind awoke enough to remember the steps for the dance then lead and spun her in a graceful circle then drew her back in close. Christine smiled gently up at me, before laying her head against my chest.

She could no doubt hear my heart threaten to burst past my ribcage, at the tremendous joy that came from her intimate act.

I realized I never explained my feelings for her. I had implied them, gave prove of the depth of my love for her, but never put them to words. And she had moved me to tears with her words. But once again my mind was rebelling against me.

Normally I was a magician with words. Twisting and turning them into grand speeches and dark intimidation. But directing them at a single individual, especially when that one is the person I love more than my music and live itself, I hadn't a prayer.

"Umm, I love this. I love holding you in my arms. I love doing wonderful things for you because you have done so many things for me," I said, meaningfully. Christine looked up, curiously and asked, "I have?"

I nodded and said, "Yes, you have. You make me a better man… no you found the man in me I believed to have been long dead, you saw something good in me. You believed in me. You loved me like no one has loved me before. It is so beautiful and wonderful and terrifying and overwhelming all at the same time. And for all of this and more, that's why I love you, Christine. I love you from the bottom of my heart and I always will. I'd give up my music to be with you," I vowed.

Tears ran down Christine's face, a watery smiled gracing her red lips. She leaned up and kissed me. Pulling back she said, "Thank you, Eric. But you won't have to do that, I'm already with you," she smiled.

"My answer was yes, by the way," she murmured. Yes to what? "The night you showed me my wedding grown, I would have said yes but I fainted from happiness. My answer remains the same," she assured.

This night was perfect. Christine was in my arms, with no sign of her leaving. She agreed to my proposal. But like all good things in my live and shadow was cast over it. I was a wanted murderer, with all of Paris looking for me. Not to mention my face, made it difficult to venture into the world outside the opera house.

"Christine, you know I would love nothing more than to be bound to you in every possible way. But do not forget I am a wanted man. I can't marry you properly in a church," I said miserable. Was I never going to be truly happy?

"I understand. It's okay, though. I've always wanted to elope," she smiled sincerely. "You really are an angel," I said, before pulling her into a kiss.

Afterwards she resumed her position on my chest. An hour later, the events of the night began to catch up with us. I lifted her up into my arms and carried her into my room and laid her gently on my bed, before hesitantly following.

She curled up close to my side, her head coming to rest on my shoulder. As she drifted off to sleep, she said, "You know, Eric. There isn't a single day that goes by since I met you, that I didn't thank God for you. I thank Him every morning and every night that He gave you to me. Lie or no, you're my most cherished gift. My angel." Then, she was sound asleep in my arms.

As I began to drift off, I thought about those words. No person had said that they thanked God for me or that I was a cherished gift or an angel. Her words touched the soul many said I lacked. Tears flooded my eyes, I decided to start thanking a higher Power for Christine, for all that she did for me. I'd be nothing by now without her.

Before I fell asleep, I looked up to the ceiling and did something I hadn't done in a long time; I prayed. "God, thanks for bringing this beautiful woman into my life and all the love that she has given me. I don't deserve her. But I am so glad that I do have her. Thanks for giving me my angel, Christine."

I fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep I had had in long time, but not before wrapping the crismson duvet and my arms tightly around my angel.


End file.
